


One in Four Centuries

by green_zombie



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 06:56:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 31,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5699143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/green_zombie/pseuds/green_zombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The second half of season 2 gets warped. Basically, the Dean really died when she died, and everyone wised up to Vordenberg's creepy vibe much earlier. Laura still winds up killing him for Carmilla. In the end Mattie decides not to sell the school (at Carmilla's insistence mostly, but also in light of Laura having helped her get rid of Vordenberg). The gang voted JP in as figurehead and gave the school to the students. The students then got the school out of its debt.</p><p>But that's all ancient history at the time this fic is set. Laura and Carmilla have gotten back together twice and broken up three times now. Laura is 26. Really just starting to make a life for herself. She's convinced loving Carmilla is a doomed affair but can't let go of their closeness (seven years and three almost-Armageddons is a lot).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Boxes

\\\

Laura sighed, taping the last of the boxes closed.

She thought she maybe should’ve tied her hair back for this, and ran a hand through it to brush it back.

She felt Danny’s shadow over her more than she really felt any presence behind her.  She tilted her head back in time to watch the girl’s lips flat-line with some grim sense of finality.

“Wow,” she said, “Is that really all of it?”

Laura cleared her throat, “Yeah.”

“And you’re— _really_ sure?” Danny’s tongue darted out to swipe at her bottom lip, nervously, “You want to…live on your own?” 

Laura turned away from her, light brown eyes flitting left, to keep from rolling. She’d been rooming with Danny and Kirsch for six years now (ending today), four of which she’d had to deal with them as a _couple_. That was almost more annoying than their run as frenemies.

“I’m really super sure _mom_ ,” If Laura were counting the number of times they’d rehashed this, she’d tell you it was the ninth one now, “I’m a twenty-six year old woman, with, like, a _real_ job now. It’s time to start—making a life…or, you know, _something_ …”

At first, Laura’s arguments had been detailed, patient. By this point, however, she was constantly having to curb her irritation at Danny’s long, doe-eyed, glances at her. 

She knew by now there was no real way to reassure her. Just like her father. Some people will just always hurt themselves worrying after you. And if you stay within their scope of what’s safe, you’ll never become capable. In recent years, Laura had begun to see it that way.

So she stood up and grabbed a box; Danny’s eyes heavy on her shoulder-blades.

“I’m gonna help Kirsch load up, ‘kay?”

Outside, she was met with a whole ton of _this is really happening_.

Kirsch’s wide smile as he tried to tetris the boxes to the back of his truck, Laf’s concentrated pout as they tied everything down in what seemed like a probably too-intricate bungee-cord system, with Perry at their side, actively mothering.

“There’s three left inside,” she informed them.

Laf’s brow quirked, “Jeez Frosh—you sure do own a ton of crap for a girl that also owns three Buddha statues.”

“I bought those for aesthetics,” she smiled at them, “And to have something to rub—”

“Now that you’re single again!” Laf finished for her, smirk smug and triumphant across their face.

Laura nodded at nothing (resolutely), and conceded to the fact that this day would be long, and _hectic_.

But at least the sun was bright, and warm—and that was something she always liked.  

\\\

Hours later she lied, alone, on her very own, cool hardwood floors.

She owned this house—the stairs that wound up, the two bedrooms; the kitchen and living room that she would hardly use…all of its parts. And she was paying dearly for it, probably too large a percentage of what she made—but at least now she had _something_.

The boxes littered the living room. She didn’t want to unpack them, or break them down—they felt like company, almost. They made a little castle around her like the type she’d build as a kid.

It made her feel less alone. Enough not to look into her phone, and do something stupid.

She did so much just to avoid that. No matter what, though, the feeling always caught up—tackling her down roughly, rugby style. 

Not for the first time since entering adulthood she wished she’d picked up an idle habit—been a beer drinker like her aunt, or a tea-lover like her dad, perhaps, maybe learned to whittle things like her grandfather did. Or even become an avid reader like—

She licked her lips and let several odd sounds escape her chest. Something like groans. Something like huffing at the invisible pressure of her life, hovering over her. _Whining_ , really. That’s where she decided the sounds belonged, but she’d already promised herself she could do _whatever she wanted_ in her own home now.

And she liked making them. It felt good and wasted her time.

She wished it were morning. Wished she was on her way to work—mind fully consumed with the interview she had scheduled (an ex-high-ranking-employee of some corporation she was sure was big-time evil, that she was writing a _major_ exposé on for what was to be her first real article). At least officially. She’d still kept her vlog running all these years; fighting evil and injustice and recording it for a (very very) niche market.

Some nights it felt like something.

Some nights, like tonight, her mind was muddled, and she felt smaller with every exhale.

A final groan and she gave up.

Her phone was between two boxes, and under the cat, charging.

Marble (named after her own resemblance to a loaf of marble pound cake) squinted at her, baffled at her hand’s sudden intrusion.

She stalked off to lie on Laura’s laptop.

“Dude I unpacked like three things, and one of them is your bed.”

She pulled the charger out and didn’t even _pretend_ to look as she swiped through her contacts. The one person in the world who could make her feel less lonely was also—

_Carmilla._

A name so heavy she couldn’t breathe under its implications anymore.

Not seeing her, though, was a worse type of drowning.

Her thumb pressed down, gently.

\\\

It’s just that— she wanted to see her dark eyes and smile.

She was so singularly beautiful. No other girl even came close to _looking like_ her.

Carmilla in her space did more than just occupy it. She changed it. The air sparked, grew hot. It was sweeter to breathe.

Laura watched her face while she said, “This is it—obviously it’s a mess right now but—what do you think… otherwise?”

Her bottomless eyes looked at everything, brows peaked. She smiled—lipstick matte red this time, “I like it, creampuff. It looks like you.”

Laura hated sometimes, her own open face. She could feel the burn of her smile stretch her lips, “Thanks—there’s one thing I think you’ll, um, really like.”

Carmilla’s hand was hot, and soft, in hers. Vampiric strength notwithstanding, the girl always felt very delicate.

“There’s a third room—not a bedroom—kind of like…a den? Anyway—”

She led her down the hall, through the white double doors. The room was long, and sort of narrow.

“I figured we could put some bookcases up. And like, chairs— _leopard-print_ chairs, if you want. A desk—deep-red mahogany, whatever. And we could keep the lighting always sort of low. This could be like—a cool study. For you. And a neat setting for future vlogs, right?”

Laura was hyper-aware of licking her lips probably a little too much. Her mouth just felt—dry.  It was especially noticeable to her when she swallowed.

“ _Plus_ ,” she nodded towards the ceiling, “Look up.”

The room had a wide skylight. Long window-panels arched towards each other to make a peak.

“You can read under the stars.”

The look on Carmilla’s face now was worth the entirety of the deposit she’d had to scrape from every bit of her savings for this place. She wished she’d unpacked her polaroid camera. As it was, she just watched the girl and tried to imprint her expression into memory—the way she closed her eyes, and the way her lips pulled up; their slope.

“And, _also_ , you can tell me what…constellations are currently above us. When we stargaze.”

Carmilla’s eyes fluttered open then. Even the line between her brow, Laura thought was pretty. Even her frown.

“What about super sunny days?—It’ll be annoying—”

“Oh there’s like—a remote control slide-panel thing to cover it so—no worries. Didn’t want to come home to find you turned into a pile of dust under a copy of like, Nietzsche or something. And I know you can stand the sun all right for a while, but I didn’t want to risk it. I know it can start to hurt and—maybe even a lot if it’s for an extended time. You wouldn’t be that dumb, but you’d be that _lazy…_ I might even try to time it so it automatically opens at night and closes before sun-up. I’ll get Laf to rig it.”

“You’re—”

Carmilla shook her head, seemingly speechless. Laura flushed from the pride she felt.

“I knew you’d like it,” she bit her lip but her grin was still winning, “I—wanted you to. When I was looking at places…I’d think—if  Carm wouldn’t feel good here then I don’t want it.”

Laura caught herself swaying a bit towards her. She wanted to reach up and kiss her happy little laugh lines. Her heart fell a bit, at their disappearance.

“But why?” The frown was marring her brow again, “Wouldn’t it make more sense to turn this into…a yoga studio—or—whatever your dear Ann might like. Maybe a closet for her scrunchie collection—”

“Carm—”

“A gross sauna for her gross golf friends—”

“ _Carm…_ come on—”

“Oh! A vanilla-sex dungeon! With soundproof walls for all the orgasms you’ll be embellishing—”

“ _Carmilla_!”

A third admonishment seemed to do the trick. Not that she _looked_ admonished. She just smirked; satisfied with herself. As always.

Laura shrugged at her in a half-hearted gesture, “We broke up. Like two weeks ago.”

She felt Carmilla’s eyes search her face (looking for what?—Laura was unsure).

“I know,” she said, finally, “Are you _sad_? Is that why it took so long for you to call me for sex this time?”

Laura gaped; feeling flustered and a little unsteady on her feet, “That’s— _what_?—how did you know?”

“Answer mine first.”

“No, I’m not sad,” her answer was prompt, mind still clearly focused on her own questions, “And I’ve been busy, y’know— _moving_. _So_ …tell me how you knew.”

Perfectly arched brows rose sardonically, “Stalking’s just part of my complex vampiric nature, cupcake. I can’t help but be obsessed with you.”

“ _Stop flustering me_ —”

“Oh relax,” Carmilla drawled out; eyes: deadpan, expression: droll, “I knew because she’s blasting you all over twitter. Try not to freak out about it.”

Laura bit her lip, face all scrunched up, “ _Ugh_.”

“It’s no surprise, really. You have awful taste,” Carmilla watched her through dark lashes, “With one big exception, obviously.”

It was a gradual pull. _Something she does with her eyes._ It always made Laura’s heart flutter faster. It made swallowing hard—her own spit a little thicker. A mass formed in her stomach—hot and always growing. It threw her off-balance.

“Carm—” her voice was always so high-pitched (so optimistic; hoping), “Do you want me to get us some blankets, and some pillows—and we can set up under the skylight and—just look at _stars_ like old times?”

\\\ 

 

 


	2. Happy Endings

\\\

Carmilla had missed it.

The way her hair bounced as she laughed. And her face lit up.

_How good it feels, to be her focus._

A lot of times, she’d declined to see her; ignored her texts. Felt volatile. Still pissed over their _last_ split. Laura seemed all too happy to let it go.  

She seemed so— _okay._ So moved on. So settled into this new definition of _them._ Regardless of how cheap a thing it was. _Why define it?—When it’s so common and gross? Why give it a name?_

She watched Laura lick her lips (still talking about her newest epic adventure—how bad the corporation—how righteous her anger—how cunning her plans to expose them…Carmilla kept up).

It was always hard to be so close to her.

_God, but she’s got pretty breasts._

She wore her loose army-green tank (one Carmilla had stolen many times; because it was soft in that way that Laura’s clothes always were, and it never lost her scent). The thing kept falling off her right shoulder a bit and _that’s_ what kept dragging her eyes to the girl’s cleavage.

Laura lied supine on top of two blue plus one yellow pillow. They were stacked behind her and propped up her head so she could comfortably stare up at Carmilla next to her, and in her sweet voice, talk.

Neither of them noticed Orion’s belt above them at all.

They watched each other, and kept floating closer. Like magnets, occasionally repelling due to self-consciousness (a wistful glance down from a long stare).

Carmilla could hardly keep it up.

_I want to kiss her principled little face._

She could always feel her heartbeat. Laura was the most definitively alive person Carmilla had ever met. She was warmer than everyone. Her heart beat stronger than everyone’s.

(Although a little too fast right _now_ ).

Carmilla watched carefully, the girl swallowing back some emotion again.

She placed a hand on her stomach, and felt the muscles twitch. She pressed down, “Relax.”

“I’m relaxed,” Laura said, pretty breathless.

“No you’re not,” a languid finger drew a line up Laura’s abdomen, slightly lifting her top, “Right now you’re _very worried_ I won’t fuck you tonight.”

Laura’s stupid smirk at least, was honest. But then she shook her head, “Just because I’m hoping something happens doesn’t mean I’m worried that it won’t. We could really look at stars, you know.”

Carmilla bit her lip not to smile and slid her hand up from Laura’s tank-top, “Okay.”

She didn’t miss the stuttered exhale (really reveled in it).

“ _Cold-blooded_.”

Smoothing down flyaways in Laura’s hair and gazing down at her adoringly probably belied that, but Carmilla didn’t contest it, “I think I’ve just always liked getting a rise out of little miss A/1/A.”

“I’ll have you _know_ ,” Laura grinned at her, “I used to get Bs in conduct all the time for talking too much and ranting out of turn. So there goes your candy-coated image of me.”

“That went a long time ago.”

For some reason the air always felt heavier when she was in Laura’s presence. Almost like she needed it. She could tell Laura might feel a version of this way by how her chest rose and fell, a bit deeply, with every breath.

It was one of too many coincidental probably-nothings that kept her heart-and-black-soul anchored to the girl (or maybe she just always would be, regardless). So she just _manufactured_ reasons to hope out of empty gestures so as not to feel insane. Like the way Laura kept one leg crossed over her knee so that her thigh was half-across Carmilla (and had lost all circulation for ten minutes now, Carmilla noted). Or the way her hand twitched –strewn across her midsection—whenever Carmilla dipped into her space to laugh, or flirt, and the corset she wore revealed what it was made to. The way her heartbeat sped up in conjunction to the motion too.

 _Oh, whatever_.

“You should be mine,” she told her, not for the first time.

And the air _was_ heavy. Laura breathed it in till it hit the bottom of her lungs, she could tell.

“ _Carm_ —”

“Sure,” she turned away from her, letting the starlight fall on her face, “Go through all your reasons again. _That_ always helps me understand.”

“And your sarcasm always just slays all my fears as per usual.”

Turning to her now, Carmilla saw the fixed jaw that she fell for (profile of the scrunched-up-face). She didn’t want to make the same mistakes. When they’d met—expecting Laura to be anything but nineteen, brave and naïve and so ready to sacrifice herself to be part of the ones that made a better world.

And now—not too different in terms of her principles or their sanctity—but definitely also at a time in her life where she’s rushing towards a “happy ending” for herself, so she could spend the rest of her life feeling like she lived it _correctly_.

And Carmilla understood her fears, in theory.                  

But it also just _sucked_.

“Carm,” she looked at her with sad eyes, “It’s just—”

“I know,” she fixed her gaze on the blank walls of the place, “I remember the cliff-notes version. You want a safety-net human girlfriend to grow old and rot with—you’re casting me aside now out of fear that _I_ might…one day—”

“One thing is _now_ ,” Laura sat up, “When I’m a twenty-six year old with the face of, like—”

“Baby Bambi,” Carmilla supplied dryly.

“Okay, fine—baby Bambi,” Laura sighed, “You just…might feel differently when I’m _fifty_ -six, or sixty-six, or—”

“Okay, Count Chocula, I think I _get_ it,” in the pregnant pause that followed, Carmilla was half-convinced that she could let it go. If anything just to erase the look of angst and apprehension from Laura’s face. Because it was probably nonsensical to poke at a horse so long-dead anyway. Still, your common sense plays very little role in who the great love of your life is, or how stupid you act around them.

She felt more open and soft in Laura’s presence than she’d ever had—in nearly four centuries. It drove her to such pathetic acts of vulnerability.

“I find beauty in literally _everything_ you do—you think I wouldn’t find it in watching you _age_? Even your death, Laura—that’s not—that’s not even really the end of things but...even if it were…it’s certainly better than _this_ stupid ending. I know you don’t want to become a vampire—and I’m sorry now that I ever brought it up. I did it because I wanted more time with you, and that was selfish—but I never meant for _any_ of this to happen—”

It was the reason for their second, and ultimately, their third break-up too.

Laura’s head hit the pillows, defeated. Caramel locks fanned around her face. Carmilla could tell her chest ached with every exhale. Her breaths were coming in shallow now, and frequent. The air must be thin for her.

“I’m not romantic enough to think that this could work despite everything,” her voice was low, for Laura, “What other happy ending do we have together? There’s _not one_. You don’t turn back into a human girl because of true love’s kiss. And I’m—not at all down with the idea of living off the blood of things and sulking in dark shadows contemplating life for centuries, so—”

Carmilla didn’t miss the mist settling over honey eyes as she continued, in the same tone.

“We’re not going to be monsters together. We’re going to be two very different things, for as long as we know each other. And I think that, that just gets worse. There’s no other ending than you watching me die. And I plan to live a long time, so our last like, _decade_ together is just you watching me forget things, and hunch _over_ because of my spine and gravity, and— and I won’t even be your lover then. I won’t even be able to do that. You’d have to find someone else. I just…can’t let my life revolve around that. I’m—not going to live out this tragedy with you. We—I _can’t_.”

_Even when she’s turning away, she’s still beautiful._

Carmilla bunched a hand in her lap to stop from sliding it down her cheek. Laura’s sadness was palpable. It still didn’t make it easier to get through.

“And you think it’d be different with another woman? You think you wouldn’t be afraid of your old droopy future then? Or—that you’d somehow be safer from infidelity?” Carmilla didn’t (and found it very hard not to) scoff, but her eyes did roll, “To be scared of an old droopy future wherein your girlfriend cheats on you _is_ to be human, cupcake. You’re living out that tragedy—as in, in-your-head— _regardless_. But it should be with me.”

She watched the set of Laura’s lips. A perfect pout. A definitive line.

“So you still don’t agree.”

And that was really the end of it.

Carmilla looked up from Laura’s sweet profile, and watched the less impressive stars. There was very little light pollution in Laura’s new neighborhood, it seemed. Their glow was ethereal.

She was sure Laura was probably minding the silence; squirming slightly, next to her. But she was sure the girl could handle it on her own.

And sure enough, within just a few seconds—tone forcibly light (and just barely missing), “ _Plus,_ one definite downside to your eternal youth is public opinion. I’ll be some super old creeper-looking lady with a hot eighteen-year-old girlfriend _apparently_.”

Carmilla’s face settled back into a mask of neat indifference; vaguely waxing derisive (with no real heart behind it), “So you’d be the _envy_ of everyone—how awful.”

“I’d be the envy of _creepers_.”

She did enjoy Laura’s expressions; especially facetious ones. But to admit it might actually kill her.

“Do you think you’ll always be attracted to me?”

“Yeah,” Laura scoffed, “That’s not even something I’m worried about.”

She reached a hand up and slid it gingerly through the waves of Carmilla’s hair, “I’m always going to think you’re beautiful.”

The kiss came maybe as a surprise to her. She was still somewhere on her last syllable when it happened, but stopped abruptly short, and kissed Carmilla back.

\\\

 

 

 

 


	3. My Turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First of a lot of smut-for-smut's sake chapters. More plot soon tho.
> 
> I guess skip this if you have no soul.

\\\

As they kissed, Laura muttered things into her mouth like, “Are you sure?”

And all Carmilla did was tighten the grip on her biceps.

Laura pulled back, and enjoyed kisses to her nose, “Because we just had a pretty big fight—”

“We’ve _always_ just had a pretty big fight.”

Laura laughed, once, rueful but honest, “Is it strange that—even though we don’t make good girlfriends, I still want you in my life? I always want to know you.”

“ _Biblically_ ,” Carmilla nipped at her lips, “You always want to know me.”

It wasn’t even _untrue_. But it stung like unfair statements do.

Black nails ran across her scalp and down her neck and she was lost, thinking _God yes—pull me in. Wreck me._

Something in her chest _did_ protest (at the implication—that this was all she wanted, or the _reason_ she wanted). But she couldn’t push words past her mouth anymore. All she could do was moan, and whimper—the only way her body could react to the sensory overload. That and her edgy shivering.

Resistance was just—senseless. Carmilla’s warm, soft lips were impossible to leave alone. Her tongue burned where it touched hers.

Everything in the room was bending, and blurring. And the temperature, sweltering.

They separated and gently bumped foreheads.

Laura swallowed, her body just starting to sweat. But did she get a break?— _No._ Carmilla’s mouth started to move on her neck (so loving and slow) up to nip her earlobe.

Laura’s _whole body_ quivered.

She could feel Carmilla’s nails on her ribs—she was pulling her clothes off already. She got Laura naked from the waist up (and for a second, cold) before wrapping her back up in her arms.

Her nose slid down Laura’s neck, loving the tendons; tongue worshipping her pulse, where she found it, jumping erratically.

“I love hearing your heart speed up the more you get excited, cutie.”

Her hands slid to Laura’s waist, where she started tugging open every button down the line of her button-fly flannel pajama bottoms before slipping in through the flap.

Laura was bucking hard into her hand, and all she was doing was palming her outside her panties.

“Take my pants off,” her breathing was uneven. And her pulse _was_ everywhere, Carmilla was right.

“I didn’t have to,” she said, in her lilting, teasing tone, “You gave me easy access. Always prepared, huh, buttercup?”

Laura huffed, frustrated, “But Carm, I’m hot.”

“You are,” Carmilla kissed her lips again, “You’re so hot, and so, so, fucking wet.”

Laura gasped. She was marked forever, and she knew it. When Carmilla wasn’t in her life, everything in her wanted to tug her back into it. She’d missed just _seeing_ her so much—the black waves of her hair contrasting against her skin, her dark eyes, her thoughtful red pout— _all of her._

“Get naked for me,” she told her, shaking on the pressure of her palm, “ _Please_. I want to see you.”

“Fine,” she said, and abruptly pulled her hand away.

Laura’s face twisted up. It was like having the game unplugged midway through a boss-battle. Instant frustration.

Instantly _worth_ it, though. Carmilla’s lacy black bra and panties looked very nice on her (Laura gaped). She was beautiful—the pale, flat landscape of her stomach, the soft curve into her hips. And of course, her pretty little breasts. Laura looked her over, eyes raking up and down her body multiple times; unabashedly.

Once it was all revealed, and the clothes were tossed away, she told her, “Come here.”

With the flick of her index finger, Carmilla was crawling over—she hugged her; pale palm cupping Laura’s face to her chest. She kissed the top of her head, fingers playing with her hair, while Laura lapped and sucked at her breasts like it was her birthright—eyes lit up with mirth and mischief.

“I love these, you know. I fucking love them.”

Carmilla laughed, hearing her swear, and kissed her forehead, “I know.”

She reached around Laura, hands in her pants, cupping her ass; practically molding the cheeks in her palms, before raking her nails on the skin, “Laura, cupcake— _please_ —I want to make you come in your panties.”

Laura sort of shuffled back (after a final peck to her left nipple), and hastily pulled down her pajama pants.

Carmilla smirked, pointedly.

Laura glanced down at herself. She was in little white briefs of a striped orange and lavender pattern.

“So _Laura_.”

She flushed, “What does _that_ mean?”

Carmilla turned her around (in a whir of vampire speed that had Laura’s heart pumping many more beats per second) and made her sit in her lap, cradling her and sliding a hot palm up her stomach.

“Means I really like your panties, princess.”

Laura reached a hand back to run it through Carmilla’s hair. She leaned back and _watched_ —bare shoulder-blades brushing against Carmilla’s hard nipples—as she ground her own pussy up onto her palm like she was offering it up.

Carmilla groped at her, hand pressed hard against her. Her mouth hovered near her ear, and she whispered, “I know you let other girls do this to you but—no other girl has ever done this _right_ to you, and you know it.”

Laura swallowed, hard. She craved everything all at once. Her vision was focused on her own taut stomach; twitching, shiny with sweat. She wasn’t going to last long. She was already shaking—the pleasure already floating her right up to the edge.

_Oh—hello infinity._

It was some big, blinding thing.

Carmilla loosened her grip on her, “ _Tell_ me _._ ”

“Fuck!” Her body jerked up against the forearm Carmilla kept crossed just beneath her chest, trying to recapture the pressure of her hand, “It’s just you! You _know_ it’s just you.”

Carmilla softly kissed her temple, “But I like to hear you say it.”

All Laura had to feel was her fingernails rake up the cotton to come.

Not _too_ embarrassingly fast. But pretty loud, pretty shaky—pretty _whiny_.

“God you’re so _fucking_ wet, sweetheart.”

That too, Laura gulped—pretty wet.

Carmilla’s fingers swirled around what had leaked through.

Laura tilted her head back (perception still spotty). Carmilla looked almost shocked.

Laura’s cheeks were hot, “Is…is that okay?”

“Is it _okay_?” Carmilla bit her smile, little fang visible, “Take them off, I want to taste them.”

 Laura did; feeling the cool air hit her following their wet separation. She handed them to Carmilla, blushing slightly as she watched her lick at them. Her pink tongue swiping a line up the cotton—Laura focused on it, eyes hazy.

“You know…if that’s really what you want, there’s more where it came from.”

Laura licked her lips. Implication obvious. Lungs—airless and weighing like tanks. Stomach—contents in a spin cycle. Life—stupid and embarrassing in the inscrutable face of a cool, undead girl.

Carmilla giggled, tossing her panties aside (apparently finished), “Oh I know there’s more, _creampuff._ But—was that an invitation?”

Laura nodded, red, “Super cordially invited.”

\\\

Judging by the look in her dark eyes she was finally getting what she wanted.

Well—Laura was too. But she definitely wasn’t as self-satisfied about it.

She broke the eye contact (closing hers) and tried to focus on the measured cant of her own hips, up into her soft mouth.

_She makes it sound like she’s playing with a piece of hard candy._

“Carm— _mmn_.”

She wondered if Carmilla could even hear it. Her voice felt so small in her chest—pressed up against all the oxygen she was swallowing.

She could feel it echoing in herself—some epic drum solo her heart was in the middle of. Her body was so very alive—so hot, and vibrating with feeling.

Carmilla sucked on her harder and her eyes shot open.

She first saw her own hand tangled in dark, unruly hair—palm on the crown of her head; pushing her down. And that, _itself_ , sent a sharp shudder through her. But, at the sight of Carmilla sprawled on the floor like that (the naked expanse of her back, twitching with her every movement)—she sort of quickly lost it.

She went shuddering up—hovering amid the cool, pink clouds. Everything felt brand new.

And maybe she wished she’d made it last (now that she’d crashed through the peak and was tumbling back). It’s just that Carmilla had looked so good _folded over_ like that, her perfect face tucked into Laura. And while she’d sucked her clit, she’d batted her eyelashes up at her—and it was always stuff like that, that really did it. That really forced her over. Carmilla was the queen of that stuff—she was so good at _posing_. So good at dragging orgasms from her that always left her shaking.

She lied back—glad for the cool hardwood floors again (though they stuck to her sweaty skin a bit). She was happy. And so far from satisfied.

She leaned up on her elbows a little so she could look down at Carmilla again (smirking of course, and licking her lips).

“Guess what?”

“What?”

“ _Your_ turn.”

\\\

 


	4. Ungodly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More smut. Actual plot picks back up next chapter.

\\\

The part of sex where you’re on display was her favorite part. And Laura was her favorite audience.

Carmilla just loved to be the focus of her attention—that moment before Laura could force her eyes to flicker left; when light brown hovered on her long enough to turn a shade darker, and _yearn_.

In very many lives, she found that it was the only attention she’d ever liked. Mostly she liked being nondescript. In the background. All in black and blending in with the shadows.

In theory vamp life really sort of suited her.

Except when it came to Laura Hollis. Carmilla didn’t know _what_ she was around her. Some sort of sentimental idiot. Genus: sap.

Whatever. At least she _had_ that.

There was a very short list of things she still had. And one of them: Laura’s attention. A very cherished possession.

And _okay._ Maybe she shouldn’t think of it as _hers_ (as she’d been explicitly asked to, in long feminist rants). But it sort of was, and plus—she didn’t _want to_ stop.

She slid herself up Laura’s palm while the girl played with her, and tried to look down; to watch.

It was obscured by some shadow and she hated it. But at least the moonlight shone on the tendons in Laura’s arm as she circled her clit with her fingertips. And at least her soft breasts slid against Carmilla’s ribs as she kissed her neck, and nuzzled the crook between it and her shoulder.

She was so fucking _passionate,_ when she did it. But then, Carmilla had never been surprised about that. She’d had her pegged on sight.

She clawed at her nape (the sweetest smelling part of her hair, Carmilla had found). And she failed at being quiet.

Laura smiled (Carmilla felt the unmistakable velvet flex against her collarbones). She smiled because she knew she was very good at it. Carmilla had made the mistake of telling her, a long time ago.

“Do you—do you want me,” Laura was staring up at her then, “To go—to, to enter—to um—”

Her dirty talk was still essentially useless though.

Carmilla kissed her chin, and murmured, “Fuck yes, cupcake— _fuck_ me.”

There her eyes went again—swirling and making that _shade._ If Carmilla could, she’d paint her whole world that color.

She settled for drowning in it _now_.

Her hands grabbed Laura’s shoulders. They were so much closer now. This is the way Carmilla wished it could _always_ be. She wished they never had to part from it. That they could both just live and die that way.

All the rest of living was just either cruel or senseless.

But then—that didn’t mean the same to _everyone_.

Laura pushed two fingers into her, in a sweet and steady rhythm—occasionally grinding the round part of her palm on her clit. At first just wanting to feel her insides, in no particular hurry. Every now and then she’d curl her fingers, and drag the pads against the ridges in her.

Carmilla felt her whole body bend like a bow, “Oh I _like_ that.”

A bead of sweat jumped off the slope of Laura’s nose, she hummed, “ _Yeah_?”

And then her rhythm sped up.

Carmilla gripped at her upper back, refusing to let even an inch of their closeness go. She bit her shoulder, “Tell me why you broke up.”

It was probably the wrong time to bring it up (if there was even a right one). Laura’s brows just furrowed, and her lips pouted, “ _What_?”

“You and Ann.”

“ _Fuck_ , Carm—that feels so good.”

Carmilla had felt it too—her own insides clench, and get hotter. Laura had thrown her head back, and she kissed a line down the column of her neck, “ _Tell_ me.”

Laura was breathing deeper; the ends of her hair grazed against Carmilla’s shoulders every time she rocked into her.

“She just—didn’t get me. I think she thought—I was some nice girl. And I’m, I’m nice—but I’m— _curious_ —and I like— _fun_ —and, and…I’m silly sometimes. I’m not nice and _normal_.”

Laura was using her hips to help drive her forearm (where the thrusts really came from). Carmilla looked up at her. She looked so— _hot_ (hair tossed almost all to one side, shoving herself into her).

She hovered a bit, little body arched above her now, and Carmilla kissed her sternum, “Yeah—you’re trouble, Hollis. And I always knew that.”

She purred and Laura moaned about it. Carmilla didn’t come _easy_ —like she did. It was always a slow, steady spiral upwards that got bigger, and hotter in her until she hit the ceiling of everything. Sometimes it took a long time.  Laura had never once grown impatient, or frustrated. She was just so loving, and good at what she did.

Carmilla felt her body coil up, at the soft way she twisted her fingers inside her, “Do you like that—being deep in my pussy— _do_ you?”

Laura swallowed hard, and sort of gasped out (breathless maybe, but brave), “Yeah.”

Carmilla smirked at her, “Don’t be shy—try three.”

She loved the dark look in her eyes. The way she licked her lips. The way she _did_ , push inside her, and give her more just the way she needed.

“I love the way you move them inside me, buttercup. You’re so good.”

She swiftly kissed her; sucking Carmilla’s last word in. Her tongue played in Laura’s mouth, for a second, before the girl dragged her lips off; kissing her chin. Then down her body, soft and warm. At her stomach, she dragged her tongue. And at her hipbones, she sucked reverently, at the pale skin and the bones underneath.

“ _Oh_ —fuck!.”

Carmilla grabbed her jaw to keep her there, when her mouth finally latched on (not that her long licks or steady sucking indicated she planned on _leaving_ or anything).

Laura’s hair curtained her face completely; falling across Carmilla’s thighs and abdomen. Carmilla wrapped her hand around it all and bunched it up in her fist—so she could watch her pretty little face.

“Lick it, cupcake,” Carmilla’s eyes stayed fixed on her tongue, “God, you make it feel so good.”

Laura curled her fingers again; pushing Carmilla up to the edge. Fucking her right up against it.

With rolls of her hips, she slid herself down Laura’s tongue, “Do you want to feel me come, cutie?”

Laura nodded, sucking harder—pressing her tongue flat against Carmilla’s clit. Her fingers pistoned in and out of her now—hard, fast, and devastating. Carmilla grabbed her shoulder, feeling the tendons twitch as she fucked her. Laura was so good at building this up for her.

Her head fell back. Her eyes were wide open. Above them, the sky looked like a dress she’d worn once (a long, long time ago). All of that wonderful silver sequin glinting against pitch black.

Gasping, almost soundless; rutting against her soft face—Carmilla came.

\\\

“My um—fingers are all pruny now,” Laura held them up.

“They look like that because,” Carmilla’s voice was especially soft (a post-orgasmic tone that Laura often remarked about liking), “—Because that’s how I suck the life and youth out of you. That’s how all this works.”

“What— _really_?”

She smirked, “No—they look like that because you just spent an ungodly amount of time fingering my _very_ wet pussy.”

“Technically _any_ amount of time would be—ungodly.”

Carmilla snorted, eyes finally losing a bit of their gloss, “Come here, sweetheart—let me make you come again. I’ll _show_ you…ungodly.”

Laura’s mouth hung halfway open.

“And this time don’t forget that I don’t have to breathe, okay?”

\\\


	5. The Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picks up directly after the last chapter.

\\\

Laura beamed at her (and knew she was—could feel it happening, on her own face). It felt like it probably looked a little dumb, but she couldn’t help it when Carmilla held Marble (thick, and loafy) up in the air, and was bumping noses with her.

 “That face you make…lazy-contempt face, you know? I _swear,_ she makes that exact expression at me sometimes.”

Carmilla smirked, and shrugged coyly, “She takes after me.”

Laura’s face scrunched up, almost imperceptibly, “I _hate_ that she takes after you.”

Marble Poundcake Hollis-Karnstein (emphasis on the Karnstein) had hopped up between them, like she did—after hours of watching them, alert and befuddled, and once they’d ground to a halt.

Laura reached to scratch the cream-colored scruff of her neck (only one odd chocolate spot adorned that part), “She looks at _you_ like you invented catnip—all awed stares and cute little winks—meanwhile at best I get some inscrutable expression and like…the _occasional_ possessive head-bump.”

Carmilla raised her brows at her, “She’s probably just pissed you keep trying to find her new mommies.”

Marble craned her neck to stare at Laura with wide, yellow eyes. She watched her mutely. Laura watched her back (expression: amused, skeptical, _adoring_ ). As a kitten, she’d never learned to meow. She just squeaked, very rarely, when she was scared or excited (the sound reminded Laura of baby birds).

Laura blew a breath dismissively through her pursed lips, looking up at Carmilla from where she was propped up on three pillows again, “You will _always_ be my co cat-mom. We found her in that shoebox _together_ , remember? Besides, she likes you better than everyone. Or really— _exclusively_.”

Carmilla put her down between them, and Marble wasted no time hopping back to Carmilla’s side. She began massaging Carmilla’s stomach with her paws; glancing back at Laura like she was some big interruption.

And Carmilla (lipstick stained pale red, and adorable, all over her chin), smiled, satisfied, “She’s got good taste. Unlike some of us. _One_ of us.”

Laura shook her head at the pointed look and the shade being thrown at her (by everyone else in the room). But honestly she wasn’t going to stop shining anytime soon. She felt as if she were bursting with light—specifically at the chest. Carmilla looked so _content_. And her own little body couldn’t stop filling up with pride over it.

Maybe she hadn’t always been so hot at first. But after a few shaky, Bambi-awkward first times she now consistently rocked at this. Like all roles she associated with—she had to do it until she felt like she did it _well_ (or the guilt of not being good enough would eat her up completely from the inside out).

She was so relieved when she started getting better. When it got obvious.

And once, when Laura had been deep inside her—Carmilla clenched tight around her fingers, bucking up against her—she’d purred out that Laura was _the best_ and effectively came, her legs shaking, and her stomach shivering, and her hands pulling hard at Laura’s hair, close to the scalp.

_Anyway_ —Laura let herself believe it was true (even though Carmilla _had_ said it like a half-second before a very hard orgasm). She let herself because it made her feel amazing. She thought about that moment in her life before doing anything that required spectacular confidence.

It always worked.

“What’re you thinking about?” Carmilla drawled at her, dark eyes raking her over like she knew.

Carmilla only ever asked that question when Laura was thinking about sex (which for her begged the question—what did her face exactly look like when she did?)

“Um!” she looked quickly towards the door, trying her best to ditch her train of thought and hop on another, “ _Bed_ —um…I— _have_ one. I have a bed that…we could use…for sleep. Tonight. I had it delivered a week ago but…I haven’t slept in it yet. I was waiting for my first night here to try it. It’s a pillow-top. The online reviews were _awesome_. Do you…want to—go to bed with me?”

Carmilla watched her very carefully. It was these delicate expressions that always made Laura’s chest ache for seemingly no reason.

_What did I do…to make her eyes look so sad, and soft?_

“No, creampuff,” she finally sighed, “I need to get going. Mattie’s waiting up for me at the hotel.”

The disappointment pricked at her—a shower of needles raining on her back and shoulders. She bit the yielding flesh of her bottom lip. She almost let something juvenile slip like: _since when!?_

But if she could put walls up where she wanted then Carmilla could too.

And it _was_ probably counterintuitive to their arrangement—cuddling in bed like they _used_ to.

In the end, she slightly nodded, her face feeling serious now (the light fading from her chest), “Do you want a ride at least?”

Carmilla frowned, “From _who_?”

“From Marble. On the back of her bicycle.”

Carmilla almost looked impressed, her dark eyes gleaming like some fire had been stoked awake, “Well look at who’s feisty.”

Laura bit on her own smile, “Come on—I…sort of have something else to show you.”

Carmilla quirked her brow, smirking, “Here comes that _oh no_ feeling again…”

\\\

Carmilla at first just frowned, confused, the barest hint of mirth in her eyes, “What _is_ it?”

Laura had led her to her garage; empty save for one small thing.

A gunmetal black, slightly modified, pre-owned but well-maintained and clearly treasured—2019 Honda Ruckus.

Laura was beaming again, “It’s a Honda Ruckus.”

_“_ A _what?”_

“A Zoomer. The American version of a Zoomer. I bought it from some guy who bought it in the States, actually. He was nice too—he’d worked really hard on it. It was like his—pet project. But he and his girlfriend are having a baby so they’re selling a bunch of stuff they don’t need. I got a tarp from them too, and a scarf, and a _really_ cool set of kitchen knives. Might as well help out a baby.”

Carmilla’s eyes were wide, and her mouth a little open (she’d made Laura take her to the bathroom first so she could wash up—so her face was make-up free). She looked young, to Laura, without it. And it was always a little startling to see.

“But, creampuff—what _is_ it?”

“A scooter. A _moped_ , you know? Fifty CCs of fury—operated by five feet and some-odd inches of a similar fury.”

Carmilla snorted and Laura had expected that a little, but she circled the thing to get a look at it.

For the two weeks that she’d had it all anyone ever asked her was why she didn’t just put a deposit down on a car (“In winter, you’ll regret it.” “Laura, you’ll die.” “That’s more or less a lawnmower.” “Laura…you’ll _die_.” “I mean, who’s going to see those two little headlights in the pitch black of this town?” “ _Laura_ — _you’ll_ _die_.”).  

With Carmilla she didn’t have to say: “ _I don’t want a car—because my mom died in a car. Because every time I’m in one I feel like something is hurtling towards me that I can’t see. And when I close my eyes, I see her face smashed open on the dashboard.”_

Carmilla already knew all of that. And never had to be reminded.

Laura watched her face—she actually seemed pretty delighted, staring at the thing now.

“I’m so good at driving it, Carm. I practiced and I did so much research, and I’m _good_. Everyone thinks I’m gonna die, but I’m not.”

The look Carmilla gave her had her blushing, “I know how good you are, Laura.”

After a heady pause—her own eyes drinking from bottomless dark pools—she asked her, “So you want a ride home?”

“On the _scooter_?”

“Yeah—the guy that sold it to me was two-hundred and forty pounds. Combined we’re still less than that. Besides, this thing is a _beast._ It has a big bore kit. A polini _variator_.”

She loved watching Carmilla’s pale throat move as she swallowed some laugh, “ _What_?”

“It’s scooter talk,” Laura told her, “I speak it now.”

“Cupcake, please don’t join some tiny gay scooter gang.”

“No promises,” her eyes were fixed on Carmilla’s pretty little laugh lines, her cheekbones, “Now—can I _please_ give you a ride home?”

Carmilla shrugged, expression sarcastic, “I mean I _guess_.”

\\\


	6. Lover

\\\

The world went by in a swirl of dark blue and black. Carmilla was glad for the leather jacket she wore over her corset, because the wind-chill was vicious. It’d been a very long time since someone had driven her around on a bike or—whatever this thing Laura loved was. A _ruckus._

She could barely hear anything past the motor and the wind-noise the helmet Laura had handed her before the ride trapped—and she supposed that’s where the name came from.

She gripped hard at Laura’s ribs—pressed flush against her back. As close as she could get.

She rested her chin on Laura’s shoulder and hoped the girl could hear her past their visors, “Cupcake slow down!”

Laura maybe scoffed. She yelled back at her, “We’re going forty! It just _feels_ fast.”

“No—I mean—you’re skipping all the scenery!”

The point must’ve gotten across. Laura gently released the throttle; until they sort of just glided steadily along out of her quiet, verdant neighborhood. The world eased from a soft blur to something much sharper in its focus. The cold wasn’t as bad, or the noise.

“ _Much_ better,” she could hear herself, and figured now Laura could too. The air also didn’t force itself into her lungs like before, and her chest was grateful for the break. The return of the usual stagnant hollowness there.

She looked up, “ _Huh_. It’s a blood moon.”

It looked almost like mars, if it were close up—if it ever hovered so _near_ to them.

She felt Laura’s head subtly shift upwards for a second, “What does _that_ mean?”

“It’s the fourth eclipse in a—”

The skin of Laura’s neck was getting goosebumps. Carmilla could see them when the wind whipped her hair up. It was like the whole world smelled like Laura’s hair, and this was all of a sudden her new favorite place to be.

“No, yeah, I know—but I mean—for _you_ —for… _vampires._ Does it…like, _affect_ you?”

“Yes,” Carmilla smirked—because she _loved_ Laura and everything the girl did just reminded her, over again, “I’m insatiable, cutie. I want your blood and your body.”

“Really?”

There wasn’t even a hint of fear in Laura’s voice at all. Carmilla rolled her eyes.

“No,” she sighed at her, “Just your body.”

“My blood is _part_ of my body.”

Carmilla held tightly onto her hips as they wound through soft curves in the road. At least Laura really _could_ drive this thing like she said.

She shouldn’t be surprised.

It was Laura Hollis, after all.

“I guess,” she felt her own lips getting pretty dry (she thought she should’ve bugged Laura for chapstick before they left, but it hadn’t occurred to her), “I guess I’m sort of drawn to it.”

“Well I am too,” Laura took another glance at it as it glowed eerily over them, “It’s strange and _beautiful_. Like…you know…like something _else_ I like a lot. _Someone_.”

It was a shame she had to miss Laura’s cheesy grin. But it was enough to know it was there (this woman, Carmilla knew better than anything—and she was grinning behind her full face visor, without question).

“I wish it wasn’t so foggy,” Laura said, after a happy silence, “Feels like the world just ended again.”

Carmilla hummed—but she wasn’t especially minding the fog. Or, right then— _anything._ In fact, it was easy to fool herself into thinking the world was singularly beautiful just because in that moment, it was—flitting through the dark, and the mist; past all the woodsy green that surrounded them. She wished Laura would go even slower.

She tightened the hold on her hips, digging her nails into the lines low on her abdomen—and Laura took off; misunderstanding the gesture.

 _What_ else _is new?_

\\\

“Whoa,” Laura balanced the scooter with one foot (tip-toed) on the pavement, “So _this_ is where you’re staying?”

Carmilla (standing less than a foot away) had to tear her eyes from her, and it was painful (because Laura kept her helmet on, with the visor flipped up and it made it look even _bigger_ on her head—and she had on a long grey jedi-knight looking parka that reached well below her knees, leaving just the barest hint of her teal jeans visible). And the image was so sweet it made Carmilla swallow hard, twice—just to taste it.

Meanwhile, panning to the gilded and ostentatious hotel currently taking up all the space in the sky—was sour. Milk you shouldn’t drink anymore.

“It’s Mattie’s.”

Laura gaped, “Wait—she _owns_ this? _Whole_ hotel?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Carmilla loved the sight of Laura squinting, and curious.

“Why…unfortunately? To own a five-star hotel isn’t…fortunate? By _definition_?”

“Just—a lot of the creepy paranormals like to do their business here. Or have their pleasure. It can get…disturbing,” she shrugged, “ _Annoying._ ”

Laura’s eyes, of course, were bright and fixed on the tall edifice; flitting over every window, “No _way_ —wait—is there—”

“—There’s no _real_ evil there,” Carmilla cut her off, knowingly, “At least none that we’re affiliated with or aware of.”

And Laura was nodding, and smiling again, attention back on the decades-old hotel, “Cool. You should show me around sometime. And I mean—if there’s a penthouse, and an indoor jacuzzi involved then— _tonight_ works.”

“Yes, and _yes_ ,” Carmilla smirked, “—But I wasn’t kidding. Mattie’s expecting me tonight. So—unless you want to drink wine with us and _chat_ —”

Laura pulled a face that Carmilla had honestly been expecting— _anticipating._

“Um— _no,_ for me, tonight,” she grinned sheepishly, “ _A_ —your sister hates me. And _B,_ I have to be up for work in a few hours. I think I’m just going to pull an all-nighter—look over all my questions and just—but—um—raincheck? For the jacuzzi— _not_ for playing third wheel while your sister brings up every exotic city you guys tore through like— _two centuries_ ago.”

Carmilla watched her, in silence, for seconds to delay it. But Laura’s absence was already gnawing at her chest.

“Guess you’ve gotta go then.”

She stared as Laura licked her lips.

“So—can we like—do this again—soon? Or—”

“Up to you, cupcake,” Carmilla tried to look indifferent, eyes flitting to Laura’s sneakers—how unevenly she’d tied them, “It always has been. So you just keep me updated on what we are.”

Laura’s mouth drew together in a deeply concentrated pout. Her lips moved a few times without saying anything, before she finally spoke up.

“Sex-friends—I guess.”

Carmilla scoffed at what the girl came up with—after whole seconds, too.

“I am _not_ your sex friend,” the words came out with the same bite _she_ felt at them, “I’ve never been your friend _._ I was your roommate, and then I was your girlfriend, and then I was your perceived-enemy, and then I was your girlfriend, and _then_ I was your perceived-enemy—”

Laura nodded; looking chastised—but glad anyway that Carmilla was even closer now. It was evident in how her eyes kept falling lower, and seemed to have trouble dragging themselves back up.

“Yup—that’s all…what happened,” she said, distracted.

“But I’ve never been your friend,” Carmilla wondered if Laura knew that she was sitting with her pretty chin tilted at her and with her sweet lips puckered up to kiss her. She tucked her face under the girl’s open visor, and whispered up against her mouth, “The word you’re looking for is _lover_.”

 _But I should_ _be your girlfriend._

The kiss wasn’t nearly hard enough. She knew Laura was pressing for more—but she cut it short for a reason.

“Have a safe ride home—”

_—tasting your own medicine._

She walked off; the helmet Laura had told her to keep tucked between her forearm and hip.

She felt Laura’s gaze burning between her shoulderblades all the way up the stairs and even after the doorman was holding it open for her with a long, gallant arm.

\\\


	7. Centuries

_\\\_

_When I wake up—I’m willing to take my chances on—_

Laura slapped her palm over her crooning phone (laying, charging, on the pillow next to hers).

She was usually a morning person, actually.

But three hours of sleep _will_ change a person.

“ _God_ —I had so many bad ideas last night.”

First groan of the day out of the way, she sat up and rubbed at her eyes.

\\\

She looked at herself in her bathroom mirror. Her hair was _everywhere_. It seemed darker; hung heavier—the way it did after a night spent sweating, with Carmilla raking black nails all down her scalp.

Her shoulders, too, had little scratch marks all over. And right below her collarbones, there was a bright red-violet bruise (from where Carmilla’s mouth had sucked so hard). Laura couldn’t say she was mad about it. She wasn’t. In fact, to herself she sort of smirked.

Mechanically, she showered—brushing her teeth while the water rinsed the soap off her body to cut the corners off a minute or two.

Most of her time getting ready was spent blowdrying her hair.

And then, she couldn’t find her favorite blue button-up for like, the fifth morning in a row. It wouldn’t be such a big deal if it wasn’t her _lucky_ one.

After maybe ten minutes of pulling open every box scattering her living room, she sighed, and grabbed a white one with pale green stripes. She threw her parka on over that and shimmied, fast, into her slacks before slipping into her shoes (tugging haphazardly; balanced on one foot), and running out the door.

\\\

Then right back inside for her helmet, and her backpack (heavy with her laptop). Her ipod, she found pretty easily, still tucked into the parka’s side pocket—with barely any charge left, but enough at least for the ride over.

_Okay. Here we go._

\\\

It was drizzling a bit. It prickled the skin of her neck (the only vulnerable place—her head safe in her helmet, her body tucked into her long weatherproof parka). She wished she’d grabbed her scarf but had no idea what box it was in. Packing was done sort of last-minute. She’d been researching, anything she could find, on the corrupt institution she was in the middle of taking apart.

She pulled the throttle all the way to the bottom. She’d always hated the rain. Back when she used to ride her bicycle everywhere, she hated it. And back when she’d wait for the bus to take her to work, and the stop had no roof—she hated it too (saying so in her head, over and over again, as it dripped all over her and right through her clothes).

On the night her mom died it was coming down in sheets.

It usually made her think about it.

\\\

She just barely managed to beat the downpour. Thunder clapped as she jogged through the glass doors of her office building. She worked for the biggest paper in town, and she was proud to say it was a legitimate source—actually concerned with the truth, actually concerned with justice; not owned by any self-interested or questionable entities.

Laura had been there four years now. At first (and for too long) as an intern. Then a copywriter who was hijacked for credit by more or less everybody a half-step or more above her. That lasted too long too.

Until, finally, she was noticed by the editor-in-chief after getting assigned to do a few online pieces. She incorporated her vlogging (documenting her experience to supplement the final article) and broke the record for hits on their site. By a very wide margin.

Now, she was an investigative journalist. She had the title and every time she thought about it her chest puffed out, her breath a little larger in it.

After reaching for so long—it was finally in her hands.

\\\

She walked in, admittedly distracted; reaching into her bookbag to make sure her notes were there, the little USB she would need, her phone.

She more or less nodded at everybody “hello.”

Her earphones were still in her ears and everything. She walked into her office, singing softly:

 _“But you will remember me—for centuries!_ _Da-da da-_ da _.”_

“ _Jeez,_ Hollis—it’s twenty twenty- _two,_ what’re you doing?”

To the right of her own large, oak desk (in a comically smaller one Laura had picked out herself) sat her assistant—Noelle Douglas.

She was actually the editor’s daughter—and _that_ initial conversation had more or less gone predictably:

\\\

_“That’s nepotism!”_

_Her boss—Liz Douglas—sat, one well-manicured nail twirling through the caramel curls of her hair—blatantly not caring._

_“Hollis—look; listen. Yes, you’re basically right.”_

_“Mhm.”_

_“But it’s also—it’s just—” she sighed deeply, starting over, “You’re—you know I think you’re the best around here—”_

_“Oh come_ on— _“ Laura ran a hand through her hair, a bit frustrated, “It’s not even a real job. I don’t_ need _an assistant. Why don’t you make her a—_ receptionist _—we could always use more of those.”_

 _Liz’s pretty brown face softened, eyes flicking from the desk back to Laura’s, “Hollis…I—I like to think we’re friends. You know I don’t always—_ get— _Noelle. And we don’t really…have anything in common. I thought this might give us a shared purpose. And..that it might bring us closer. Besides, you know she looks up to you as a strong gay-lady role model. And I’m glad because…you really_ are _an admirable person.”_

 _“Oh my_ god _,” Laura’s face nearly scrunched up before she sighed, and just rolled her eyes, "Fine."_

\\\

It wasn’t bad though.

Laura knew it wouldn’t be when the girl first stepped into her office. She’d seen Noelle through a few phases of her growing-up over the years. The only difference between that summer and the last one was the little pageboy haircut that replaced the big mane of curls she’d always had before then.

At that first meeting she waved hello sort of shyly but smiled in a way where Laura knew she _wasn’t_ —and was actually just barely holding back.

Now her smiles were even wider.

Laura nodded at her as she sat, “What’s up, Noellz?”

The girl shrugged and sipped her coffee.

Laura bit her lip, eyes a little repulsed, “Did you brew that here?—we’ve been out of sugar for three days in the break room.”

“I would literally drink a cup of beans steeping in some like, lukewarm water right now. It’s seven thirty in the _morning_ , L. No time to be a sugar elitist.”

“I can always count on you to tell me the time every day,” Laura smirked, sliding her hair back from where it’d fallen in her face, “You should put town crier on your resume. Liven it up.”

“Ha _ha_.”

Laura proceeded to take her notes out of her bag and splay them out on her desk, in order, eyes roving over them while Noelle whined in the background.

“ _Dude_ —do you think,” she paused, and Laura really hated that the girl’s chair had wheels, because she was always rolling over, to sit directly next to her, “Do you think Laney will end up with me?”

Laura’s brows knit, attention split maybe 70/30 in favor of her work, “The…receptionist?”

“The love of my life, yes.”

“Um—” Laura shook her head, but at the phrasing of question nine; writing over the ink, “No, she has a girlfriend.”

Noelle sighed, and Laura wished she’d just said yes (or better, nothing), “But look at the _facts_ , L! She flirts with me like, _all_ the time. And—I’m cuter than her girlfriend. I mean…she’s more _fit_ , in the body, I’ll give her that—but I can’t help I’m lanky…it’s hard for me to amass thickness. My _face_ though— _how_ —how could you look at her girlfriend’s face, and then my face, and _ever_ pick her girlfriend’s?—I mean—”

“Um— _hey—”_ Laura finally looked up, brows peaked, eyes squinting a bit, “Why don’t _I_ give you my debit card, and you go to the coffeeshop and get us breakfast?”

Noelle nodded, smiling, “ _Hell_ yes. Hot chocolate and that cranberry-cake frosted-sugar-nightmare you have most every morning I’m supposing?”

“ _No_ , a bran muffin.”

Noelle smirked, “Coming _right_ up, Ms. Hollis.”

“Hey! I was kidding. Get me the cranberry walnut bar, and yeah—hot chocolate. A large, okay? You remember my pin?”

“1698, right?”

Laura nodded, eyes downcast before looking back up at her, “Ask Laney if she wants something too—if you want.”

And Noelle grinned, reaching up to grab Laura’s card, “Look at _you_ being a softie.”

Laura glared at her, “After breakfast it’s _straight_ back to business.”

“Yes, gay boss. Straight back to business.”

\\\

“Mmn,” Laura tilted her cup back to drink down the last bit of her hot chocolate before turning to Noelle, “We’re gonna have to go soon.”

She played with her empty cup, before chucking it successfully into her wastebasket (all the way by the door) and smiling to herself about it.

“The meeting’s not for a bit but—”

She started gathering her things, putting her notes neatly back into their yellow folder, “I want to get there early. I just—keep worrying he’s gonna chicken out last minute. Feels like every second he hasn’t canceled is a miracle.”

“He seemed skittish last time we spoke, yeah,” Noelle was slinging her bag over her shoulder, when she frowned at the helmet Laura held between her hands, “ _Hey_ , I’ll drive us. It’s still raining out. Besides…do you _really_ want to take that scooter all the way to downtown?”

“I dunno,” Laura leveled her with a sharp glare, “Are you gonna drive like an asshole again?”

Noelle sighed like she knew better than to contest it (she was learning it was like that with Laura and certain things), “No—but for the _record_ —once again—a California roll _isn’t_ not stopping at a stop sign.”

\\\

“ _Fuck_.”

Laura rarely cursed. When she did—the situation really called for it.

“That was—” Noelle started, driving them back from their interview’s apartment.

It’d been a bust. They were no further now than they’d been before and they’d had—in their presence—someone who used to work, closely, with these people. Someone who’d been well on his way to becoming them.

Before cutting all ties.

Before beginning a much simpler life. A _much_ dimmer future. Working a job that had nothing to do with his last one (a sales rep for a fancy men’s shoe store).

Laura bit her lip, “Someone must’ve talked to him—they must’ve threatened him—or—”

“He sounded like their website—did you notice?" Noelle stopped smoothly at a yellow. They were still in town.

Laura nodded, a pout on her lips, “Yeah like—he used all the same phrases. The wording; all stilted marketing-speak. And he was dying to get us out of there. You think he thinks he’s been bugged?”

“I— _whoa_ ,” Noelle turned, eyes staring glossily through her side window, “ _Girl_ , Victoria’s Secret is having a sale.”

“What?— _no_.”

But she was already turning, and pulling into the mall; grinning all over the place.

\\\

Laura watched, bored, as Noelle laid panties down atop the wooden display and glared at them thoughtfully.

“How does it take you an hour to pick out _panties_?”

“Do you have any idea how important one’s underwear is to their quality of life, you hanes-loving _savage_?” Noelle looked up, first _at_ and then immediately past Laura. The young woman’s brown eyes unfocused, and grew darker—a little deeper.

“Holy _hell_ ,” she murmured, almost too low for Laura to hear, “That girl is what my dreams are made of.”

Laura turned, at first nonplussed and already not impressed and then—it always seemed amazing. She never noticed how empty her chest always was until she looked at Carmilla and immediately her body flooded with blood, and warmth. It was like she was aware she was alive, all at once—and it was so reassuring.

And then of course the urge was there, to touch her. Or crawl into her arms—fill up every space in her body with hers. All the usual side effects of seeing her. Especially when she wasn’t expecting it. Doubly especially when the girl dressed so cutely. Laura could feel her face flush.

_I want to lick the pale skin that shows through her ripped jeans._

“Go ahead and stare a little _harder,_ L. Maybe her clothes will burn off if you do.”

Laura looked away just as Carmilla noticed them.

“ _Shut up_ ,” she didn’t even know who to glare at, or which one of them she was really talking to, “And don’t embarrass me.”

It didn’t take long for Carmilla to stalk, with a playful smirk, into their space (a basket of mostly black lingerie hanging off the crook of her arm).

“ _Cupcake_ ,” she said, wearing sunglasses that were big on her delicate face, “What a nice surprise.”

\\\

 

 

 

 


	8. Panty & Stocking with Garterbelt

\\\

It’s weird how things go sometimes. How Carmilla had _just_ been thinking about her.

_Maybe thoughts do work like magnets. Law of attraction and all._

Still—it was so strange to turn around and see her there suddenly; fidgeting and hissing something at some girl she was with (some girl who was promptly ignoring her and still eying Carmilla something awful; hard and shameless). Though that really hardly held her attention. She watched Laura’s lips as they twitched.

When Carmilla reached her, when their eyes met, it all clicked into place again.

“Cupcake,” she could feel her mouth curl around the word, “What a nice surprise.”

Laura cleared her throat and shuffled between favoring one foot or the other, with a sort of barely-contained hop, “Hey—hi. What’re you, um…you’re shopping?—Well—I mean duh. Obviously. You’re…shopping.”

It petered off to almost a sigh. The girl beside Laura giggled and Laura glared at her; eyes quickly flickering left.

The girl motioned at Laura while aiming a smirk at Carmilla, “This is a big-time investigative journalist right here, in case you missed those skills.”

Carmilla quirked a brow, dark eyes still fixed on Laura, “A rude one at that.”

Laura sighed and waved a reluctant hand between them, not really looking at either of them (holding her breath and staring at the ceiling like she was asking it for some big favors), “Carmilla, Noelle. Noelle, Carmilla.”

“Noelle’s my,” Laura gestured at her, “She’s _vaguely_ my assistant. She offers very loosely defined assistance. When she feels like it.”

“Without me Laura would have to heat up her own cup noodles,” Noelle piped up, informatively, with a smile at Carmilla, “I’m an integral part of the team.” Then she pursed her lips, looking Carmilla up and down suggestively, “And _you_ are—Laura’s gorgeous…?”

The question hung in the air and Carmilla watched it go through Laura’s head; every emotion scrolling plainly past her face.

“Um,” though the pause gave Carmilla a sliver of hope, the words still fell too easily off Laura’s lips, “She’s my—friend.”

“Cool, cool.”

Carmilla lowered her eyes derisively, her brows peaked—at least _Noelle_ was pleased (and grinning everywhere). Carmilla kept her attention on the other girl now—pointedly off Laura. She felt the light-brown eyes searching for hers and wondered if she regretted it yet.

“So…” Noelle clasped her hands in front of herself (unaware of their moods having shifted), she looked at Carmilla with her dark-brown eyes squinting, “Would your… _association_ ….with L imply—would it at all indicate a certain you know… _proclivity_ —for the um…the woman side of the…y’know, _world_. Like…are you gay—or even a little bit?”

“Oh, very.”

“ _Nice_.”

And Carmilla could sense, then, Laura’s discomfort. It was very sharp and rolled off the girl in waves (after it made its slow winding trek down her shoulders and back to finally twist and clutch around her chest). And she definitely deserved that—the feeling that made her swallow hard at the air just to try to cool herself off. In all honesty, she’d been asking for it.

Noelle took maybe a half-step towards her and Laura watched her from the sides of her eyes; her cheeks puffing out in annoyance.

Noelle smirked, “That’s actually—the _exact_ amount of gay I like in my women. So our _maths_ match.”

She passed a hand through her short wavy hair and Laura scoffed softly.

“So do you, like, go to school around here? ‘Cause _I_ do. I go to Silas and I’m pre-med. ‘Cause I’m a nice girl. A nice girl to settle down with.”

Carmilla regarded her then (honestly for the first time). She was nice, and definitely pretty, if not a little suffocatingly charming and perhaps too— _smiley_ for her tastes. Either way, she didn’t feel like using her just to put a (well-deserved) scowl on Laura’s face. And besides they seemed to be friends.

“Oh no,” Carmilla’s brows furrowed and she smiled a little haughtily, “I graduated years ago. A year before Laura actually.”

“Oh you’re—” Noelle took her half-step back, a little flustered suddenly. She motioned between Laura and Carmilla, “You’re _Laura’s_ age?”

Carmilla nodded, “Yes.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Noelle glanced between them, nodding a little sheepishly, “So you both sold your souls to the same devil. Nice.”

Carmilla watched Laura’s face. She was staring at Noelle with wide eyes. It was almost like she’d never thought about doing this before (it was obvious to Carmilla that she _hadn’t_ ). It was funny, because it’d always been so obvious to her—just because she’d died at eighteen and forever inhabited that frozen body didn’t mean she couldn’t go around saying she was _thirty_ if she wanted. Who would cause a fuss? She could say she was thirty-five. What would people do? _Congratulate_ her. She could damn well say she was forty and list genes, diet, and exercise (or, fuck it, pagan rituals) as excuses and what would people do— _look her up_?

Not likely.

Noelle turned to Laura, smiling playfully, “Girls this pretty hung out with you in college?—I bet you had the most legible notes _ever_.”

Laura stared straight at Carmilla, and nodded slightly in her direction, “We were roommates actually. My freshman year.”

“Oof,” Noelle gave Carmilla a pitying expression, clutching at her own heart, “I’m sure living with this tiny bundle of neuroses was just—a _blast_.”

“It had its moments,” Carmilla responded, succinctly but with a subtle breathiness that made the implication obvious.

Noelle gaped a little (staring between them with slow, giddy realization) and Laura blushed.

“Speaking of which,” Carmilla continued, dark eyes lowering to glance at the basket in her arm, “I was actually just wondering if you’d like these on me, creampuff.”

“Um,” Laura combed her fingers through her hair, throwing it to one side, “ _Yes_.”

“Well which do you want to see later?”

Laura was biting the grin on her face, “Th—the two piece one with the…garter and stockings?”

Carmilla nodded, “Okay. I’ll see you tonight, then.”

She floated past them with a small wave and a “Nice meeting you,” at Noelle.

A few steps off, towards the register, she glanced back to check on them and was instantly glad she did.

Because this was the scene:

Laura’s hands were covering her face and she was softly chanting “Shut up, shut up, shut up,” while Noelle slapped her arm, saying, “ _How_ could you _keep this_ from me?” and “I want every detail! You sneaky little bastard!”

And then Laura was hissing (glancing around), “ _Stop it_! You’re embarrassing me in front of other women.”

To which Noelle replied, “I’ve actually been holding back my bigger squeals for when we’re in the car so _there_.”

Carmilla’s brows rose (because these two were _something_ else).

She walked away smiling and paid for her things.

_That could’ve gone worse—_

\\\

_Not that Laura deserved it or anything_. _That easy out she gave._

She walked out of her uber with her shopping bag on the crook of her elbow, and up the stairs leading to the hotel. The doorman held it open, smiling and nodding, “Ms. Karnstein.”

Inside, everything was gleaming marble and beautiful. A whole lot of gilded luxury. Carmilla just liked the lighting. It was dim and ruddy. The art wasn’t awful either. And every now and then there’d be a pretty patron or two but it was mostly monsters in there.

She went past the lobby and into the in-house bar where her sister was likely to be.

With a black shawl wrapped around her, Mattie sat around a table opposite a centuries-old incubus Carmilla thought she recognized as a very old friend of hers whom she’d never quite been formally acquainted with. She approached them, because he at least didn’t seem annoying.

“Mattie.”

“ _Mircalla_ ,” Mattie smirked, “You never come to _the bar_. Funny it should be today.”

She shrugged, “I have hours to kill.”

The incubus tossed his hair back from his face and nodded at her, “Your sister’s even more gorgeous up close, Mattie.”

“That’s not going to work on me and I don’t think I even _have_ a soul for you so—” Carmilla frowned. It seemed she’d been wrong about this guy. And she was already growing a bit bored of the situation.

“You’re not her type, Sam,” Mattie smiled at her, fondly, “She likes annoying little wretched human girls exclusively.”

Sam nodded, “Same.”

Carmilla sat and a bartender (a girl in a black vest and bowtie) promptly stopped at their table with a glass of champagne for her.

“Thanks,” accepting the drink she noticed two men at a far table speaking quietly and gravely to each other. One had very dark eyes. Black, really.

What was odd was the spread around them. It was the best of everything (and was hardly touched at all). It was also odd—how nervous the boy tending to them was. How when he stopped by with fresh drinks they stopped talking, and the black eyed man glared at him till he left (his hands shaking around a corkscrew).

_Their_ bartender grabbed Carmilla’s chin and tugged it so she faced her own drink, “It’s better not to look at those guys.”

She turned to Mattie who shrugged vaguely. Her mouth a fixed line.

“Who—are they?”

Mattie rolled her eyes, slowly, “You’re seeing her again _aren’t_ you? Riding in her _mystery van_ again, are you? Because here you _go_ pumping me for information again. And not even in _private_ this time.”

Carmilla’s brows furrowed, “ _What_?”

“ _Oh_ , you think I don’t know?” Mattie turned to her; smirk pulling up leisurely across her face, speaking lowly and carefully, “You think I don’t know she’s investigating them? When they first got here, they came up and asked me about her because _clearly_ our names are all wrapped up together now according to underworld lore. It seems little Lois Lane has _quite_ the reputation. And if you value your _hide_ , which I know you do—you’ll stop playing Superman for her because Cyleron, they don’t… _play around_ with people, Carmilla.”

“I literally have no idea what you’re—”

It came to her then, that name. _Cyleron_. Where had she heard that name before?

_In a chipmunky voice in the background of her post-orgasmic bliss._

Oh.

_Of course._

“Laura’s—writing about _these_ people.”

\\\

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I thought this would be a good point in the story to clarify that while the whole thing with Laura's job and article and this new evil presence with a lame made-up name that I hope doesn't actually exist or infringe on anything IS an important part of the plot (because I consider this stuff just part of Laura's character overall; her ideals and hero complex) it is not in the slightest the focus of the fic. So don't expect any big overarching themes there, because that's not where those things lie in this story. It's more about Laura and Carmilla's dynamic in how they deal with this stuff. I just didn't want anyone to expect too much plot there because you know...it would be disappointing for you.
> 
> Anyway! Smut next chapter, and I'll post it soon.
> 
> Also, hooray for season 3! :D That was fucking awesome!


	9. Be My Rebel Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut for smut's sake.

\\\

_Bikini Kill’s playing too loud so that means Carmilla’s in the house._

No surprise she broke in _and_ rummaged through most of the boxes already. _Apparently_ —found and pulled out her speakers too.

Laura didn’t mind it. The way it set the mood it was almost like they were in college again. She’d missed Carmilla’s presence in way more ways than she wanted to take apart. The hole it cut in her only continued to grow deeper and darker (and everyone always said that with _time_ it should disappear).

Laura found that wasn’t true at all.

She closed the front door behind her, walking in. The house even smelled like Carmilla already—like chocolate, perfume, the dark.

Laura let her bookbag and helmet fall to the floor. She took her parka off and flung it over a box ( _tomorrow_ , she’d unpack).

It seemed Carmilla had found her room. It was where Laura heard the music coming from. Something about the thought of Carmilla waiting for her there made her chest warm—which was especially nice coming in from the cold.

She headed up the stairs. Of course, her door was partway open. Carmilla laid out traps for her like it was art. So much care was taken into the set-up. Laura smirked. In all honesty, she liked the adventure of it all. Her heart always sped up for this sort of thing (and other reactions too, but—it embarrassed her to admit those).

She stepped through the open door and the air was different in the room—heavier; with a darker, sweeter scent.

Carmilla was sprawled over her bed, her body lying in a single sensuous curve that Laura traced (loving every hazy second). Her pale legs were even more inviting than usual; in sheer black stockings clipped to a garterbelt that clung to her hips and made Laura’s hands wish they could trade positions. And her smooth stomach—how it twitched for her made Laura’s head pound. Already her blood was growing hot in her veins.

Laura frowned then. Carmilla wore an unbuttoned light-blue button-up over her sheer black lace bra. One that Laura recognized immediately.

“Are you _kidding_ me?”

Carmilla smiled and Laura knew that she _knew_. In fact, this had probably been the punchline to the set-up all along.

“That was my favorite shirt, Carm.”

Carmilla grabbed each open end and pulled it tighter over her own body, covering her mostly-naked torso with it now, “ _This_ one is?”

“ _Yes_ —when did you snatch it because I’ve been looking for it for almost a week now.”

Carmilla’s lips pulled into a pout. She looked pensive, but it was all an _act_ and Laura knew that. It was just to be aggravating.

“Um, I took it last week yeah. It was on the way back from the bloodbag hook-up. I stopped by your old apartment with JP because he wanted to see you and your roommates. I went into your room looking for you but you weren’t home. So I stole your shirt. And your vanilla chapstick. And three cookies from a stash I found in a drawer by your desk. Any _further_ questions, your honor?”                             

Laura shook her head, sucking her bottom lip harshly into her mouth, “You know I’m actually pretty mad right? I mean—it’s, I’ll admit some of the edge _is_ cut off by the fact that you’re in some _really_ hot lingerie right now but—I’m also just— _god_ —what _possesses_ you to steal my things? You don’t even _wear_ stuff like that when you go out so what exactly is the point? Other than fucking with me, what are you accomplishing? _What_?— What do you do with my shirts?”

Carmilla met her eyes dead on, looking pleased with herself, “Masturbate in them.”

_“_ Wait, _what?”_

Laura was torn between laugh, scoff, and general mental breakdown. Her mouth caught mid-smile, mid-gape.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to, cutie.”

Laura sighed. If Carmilla was a master of _anything_ it was certainly the art of defusing her anger by converting it swiftly into this panicky mixture of confusion and arousal. Dealing with this was one of the worst things about being Laura Hollis in the presence of Carmilla Karnstein.

“Wha—?” she’d started quite a few aborted sentences already, “What even…is the allure of that, I mean—”

Carmilla brought the sleeves up to her face and breathed in, “ _Mmn…_ there’s so much to it, really. It just feels so soft—and it smells good—you must wear it all the time because it smells _just_ like you. And I…I like wearing it when I lie in bed and read. And obviously…when I touch myself, like I told you. Just makes it easier for me to imagine you. But the Laura-scent is starting to fade so…I’m giving it back. Like I always do.”

Laura’s mouth twisted up, “You give things back—but you never apologize or stop taking them in the first place.”

Carmilla stared her down with shameless black eyes that caught the lights in the room (from some elaborate ceiling fixture) and gleamed mischievously, “Maybe you haven’t taught me a serious enough lesson. Maybe _that’s_ what I need and I’ll stop.”

Laura’s whole body tensed—from her toes, up her legs, the tops of her hips, her hands and arms, and the cords of her neck. It all happened in maybe a split second—one hot, pulsing moment. The type that soaks her panties and makes her pulse beat hard in her clit right away.

By now was she accustomed? Not really.

Arousal that made her honestly light-headed buzzed just under her skin. It felt good but it ached too. She bit her lip in frustration; already feeling sweat beading on her lower back, “You always get out of real trouble by instigating sex trouble.”

Carmilla’s voice was breathy, and soft like silk, _“Yeah._ So?”

The expression that flitted over Laura’s face must have amused her. Laura huffed, and self-consciously shut her mouth right away, “I’m not playing around, you know?”

Carmilla nodded, “I’m _scared_.”

Laura walked up until she hovered just over her; her shadow shrouding the beautiful pale expanse laid out on soft white sheets who was now pressing her hips together and bucking them up slightly.

“You look so cute when you do your determined little walk.”

Laura tried not to blush—but her skin did feel very hot; like it’d burn Carmilla right now, if Laura put her hands on her.

“I mean it, Carm—do you have any _idea_ how many times I was late to work frantically trying to find this shirt?”

Carmilla licked her lips like she could taste Laura’s flushed skin, and watched her with playful eyes, “But you have a million light-blue button-ups, creampuff.”

Laura met her stare, feeling like she was glaring—like her eyes were bright—and twisted a fist into Carmilla’s collar, pulling her across the bed and up, tight against her own body. She whispered onto lips smooth with lipstick (a very meticulous job Laura was definitely going to ruin by the end of the night), “Well _this_ is my lucky one.”

Carmilla shrugged, “So take it back.”

Laura’s gaze flickered to the hand she had knotted in her own shirt, and what the gap in the two halves revealed—all that sweet, smooth skin and black lace.

_Her cleavage looks so soft and pretty._

Laura felt like her eyes lost all their light as her thoughts turned to the primal.

“Were you touching yourself before I got here?”

She noticed it now. Carmilla’s eyes were glossier than they should be. Her hair was a bit mussed. And her arousal made the air heady—made everything blur and vibrate. The hand that had fisted her shirt on Carmilla was now splayed against the girl’s chest; absorbing the warmth of her body.

Carmilla’s mouth pulled up, in a small lopsided smile, “I actually _just_ finished.”

Laura’s head swam with the thought of how warm those lips were (as they curved around the words), before she finally captured them. It wasn’t soft. Their mouths crushed, and Laura bit at the seam of her lips till they parted for her; returning her moan with an angrier one.

Her hand slid from Carmilla’s chest down her shoulder, to wrap hard around her right wrist. Her other hand undid her own slacks, and pushed them off with her panties.

Carmilla looked down, eyes wide and excited, “Aquamarine and baby blue stripes.”

“What?” Laura frowned, not getting it, but with her concentration already waning; her eyes hazy (she knew, because her vision was blurry). They kissed again and it vanquished nearly every thought. Though her head felt heavy, she knew it was just the sudden rush of blood in her body. She didn’t have a headache how she didn’t have a fever (even though her body _was_ on fire).

She squeezed Carmilla’s wrist, before tugging it to press the girl’s palm onto herself; cupping the back of her hand to guide her wet fingers across her hot and pulsing clitoris.

“ _Fuck_ ,” she bucked her hips into it; letting go of Carmilla’s hand to grab her shoulders with both and steady herself. Carmilla swirled the slick pad of her middle finger in a tight circle over Laura’s clit, her other hand grabbed her lower back; rubbing soothing figures over it as Laura ground her hips down on all the pressure offered, groaning at her, “So nice of you to have already gotten your fingers wet before you tried to play with me. Go ahead and spread it all over my clit, babe. _God_ —you must’ve been really turned on. You must’ve made yourself come really hard, Carm, because _jeez_ is your hand wet, and warm.”

Carmilla’s eyes grew darker as she listened to her—expression glazed and pupils blown. Laura knew she went crazy over it but she wasn’t really much for over the top dirty talk—outside of just, her ability to state the obvious. And most of the times she tried to force it she stuttered through it (win/win because Carmilla got off on that _too_ , it was just sort of very embarrassing when it happened).

She licked her lips and just enjoyed the friction—the slow spread of pleasure leaking through her taut body.

Drunk on endorphins, all the lights bending in her vision, she watched Carmilla lick her hips, and the lines that ran up to her stomach. There was warmth wherever her lips touched—the type that lingered, and sort of tickled. She kissed the moles around her bellybutton and all of Laura twitched, “ _God_ , Carmilla. What’re you _doing_ ?”

Her head rolled back and her eyes probably did too. She opened them to watch Carmilla looking up at her, and blinking slowly so her dark lashes fluttered against her pale cheeks; she was sliding down to her knees, whispering, “I’m giving you everything you want. The way I always do.”

Laura’s thighs went rigid as Carmilla put her mouth over her (one hand roughly palming her ass while the other slid inside her with two fingers). She grabbed the back of Carmilla’s head because her legs were already shaking.

She had to close her eyes at the look on Carmilla’s face. She’d never had a girl want her like that—so remorselessly. A dark whisper staggered out of her breathless lungs, “ _Suck_ on it.”

The sound of her heartbeat pounding inside her was so loud that it made the suckling sound seem almost far away. She tried hard to concentrate on stilling her hips. Funny how she spent her life trying to rush through everything but _now_ all she wanted was her own heavy foot off the accelerator. In the darkness of her eyes she saw bright lights flashing. She was going to die here soon—in that beautiful metaphorical way—grinding up against Carmilla’s delicious desperation to taste.

A fresh shiver of pleasure crawled down her spine at the feeling of fingers curling inside her. She loved Carmilla’s hands—her nails and the rings she wore—just feeling them slide coolly against the tight ring of her entrance caused a spasm, an immediate jerk of her hips; right up into a mouth that was suckling with ever-growing greed.

Carmilla pulled back, looking up at her with incredulous black eyes, “Your cum is literally running all the way down to my tits, just so you know, princess.”

Laura watched it drip down Carmilla’s chin for a second (the lipstick smeared all over her mouth now like Laura had predicted) before swiftly yanking her face back in.

She pushed herself up over Carmilla’s mouth much harder, without warning; tightening her grip on her hair. She was suddenly, instantly feverish with an urgency that dismantled her ability to care about anything but finally letting herself fall off the edge. No. _Jump_. She was actively chasing it—eagerly against the pressure of Carmilla’s mouth and the pressure of her hand.

Laura wanted her orgasm now. She wanted to come.

She wanted—

“ _Yes!—Yes!—Yes!—Fuck!”_

Carmilla split through her labia with a sharp tongue; pressing it right up against her entrance as she came, with hard spasms, and low growling, and even more cum sliding hotly out of her. Carmilla finally crawled up when Laura stopped shaking, and Laura could see _it_ in her mouth; making her tongue glossy.

Carmilla stood and grabbed her by the hair at her nape to tug her up and kiss her forcibly—deliberate and possessive.

To seal the experience, Laura guessed, and swallowed her own taste. It wasn’t as sweet as she thought it’d be.

But she liked it.

\\\

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter I introduce new plot points.
> 
> JK.
> 
> Next chapter I introduce some strap-on sex. Hope you guys enjoyed the latest installment!


	10. More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy hump-day--here's some very appropriate smut. 
> 
> FYI the type of strap-on they use is a strapless one--sort of like a feeldoe kind. Wanted to state it here in case it wasn't obvious in the story because I'm a shit writer or something. 
> 
> So...yeah. Enjoy!

\\\

A swell of emotions pressed up against Carmilla’s chest (which usually was so hollow) as she watched Laura’s body straining over her orgasm. It was like a stained-glass window cracked open in the sun—beautiful as it broke. Her little tendons jumping and rippling under her glowing skin. Her hair a light-brown mess, golden where the ceiling lights caught it.

Carmilla looked up at her through her lashes, still on her knees; her hands still holding on to Laura’s twitching hips, watching the tense bend of her body. _Elegant—_ like the curve on the stem of a flower.

Time froze for the length of a thought. Carmilla tried to absorb every aspect of her into memory in that one moment and still probably failed to note the _little_ details.

That would later haunt her.

She used Laura’s body to tug herself up and crashed their mouths together (the translucent pool of Laura’s orgasm saved on her tongue). The kiss was exquisite. The taste buzzed on her lips afterwards and made her suck them into her mouth with a moan.

It caused a smug little look to flit over Laura’s face in response.

Carmilla _also_ noted that Laura was breathing in hard and deep because she _had_ to and she knew she was the reason. So really, they were at least tied for this according to the tally; objectively.

_Well whatever._

Better that Laura should feel like she was winning.

The girl’s little body puffed up and they kissed again, their lips pulled together like magnets. Carmilla caressed her jaw; thumb lingering on her chin. It all still tasted completely like Laura between them and it made Carmilla moan again; made her tangle a hand in Laura’s hair to pull her deeper into her mouth.

Laura used the garter-belt to tug Carmilla firm up against her and Carmilla purred at the gesture. She cupped Laura’s cheeks with both hands and tried not to swoon in her arms over how it felt to be the focus of all her excitement. To be kissed like they were the ones who started it. Urgent and thorough.

Carmilla took a second to thank her past-self for setting this all into motion. Some games paid off and some didn’t; this time she really got lucky.

She’d found out a long time ago that when she annoyed or frustrated Laura whilst coyly flirting with her (and if the flirting worked), the aggression tended to carry over very beneficially into Laura’s sexual persona. And while she adored loving-Laura with her deep, thoughtful kisses and soft palms—she also couldn’t lie—there was something exhilarating about the Laura currently biting into her bottom lip and squeezing her ass like she could give a fuck.

If she could explain the _allure_ (something Laura might someday ask her to do) it was simply that—she liked feeling like something Laura needed to win at. Liked seeing the fire light and surge in her soft brown eyes.

Laura just looked extra pretty when she was a bit angry. So Carmilla sometimes played games betting against herself that she could get the girl there without tipping her over into the type of irritation where she didn’t get sex at all, but the opposite.

It was fun. Sex with her was just so— _fun._

She was the first person Carmilla had ever _laughed with_ in bed. And still—capable of so much damage too; pressing against her with hips that never got tired and hands that held so much hidden strength.

It was a unique trait of hers that fascinated Carmilla—how her power was _there_ but it wasn’t frightening or in any way corrupt.

The selfless were usually never so _strong_ too.

Carmilla had never seen that up close before. Never seen someone so small carry the world on their shoulders and leap through every  hurdle under the weight just to save it. Like she really saw it as something _worth_ saving. Something worth all of that hassle.

Laura was a once in a lifetime phenomenon, Carmilla was convinced. And giving herself away to it was really her only priority these days. With zero regrets.

Laura finally pulled back, licking her lips, getting ready to talk, “What do you want me to do… _first?_ ”

Carmilla couldn’t help her own grin at the question any more than she could help the rush of warm arousal that slid out to pool in her panties. All her limbs felt weaker suddenly; like she was falling, helpless—nothing to grip onto, nothing to catch her fall. And it was the most scared she’d felt in a while. But at the same time—the best.

She kissed Laura’s nose, and sighed, happy, “I just want to feel your soft little mouth on me.”

\\\

 

“When I’m around you, everything in my body just…lights up and feels hot,” Laura slurred the words right up against her mouth as they kissed.

They’d been kissing for a while. It was her favorite thing—to have Laura’s lips flex against hers, and close over them to suck; to rake her teeth on them; to split them open with her tongue and fully take her. Laura was the best kisser (the best everything).

A moan rolled almost inaudibly out of her empty lungs at the way Laura’s tongue twisted inside her mouth. She pulled back, almost regrettably, “D-do that on my clit. Please cupcake.”

Laura smirked and huffed happily (having been left a little breathless, Carmilla noted). The shade of brown in her eyes was almost unbearably light.

And then she was tearing at her lingerie. It was never something that lasted long with Laura. She pulled her bra off after undoing the snaps in a single try, and tugged the garter-belt off her too, along with her panties, with no patience. The stockings she wanted to leave on, but Carmilla told her _no_.

“They’re gonna slide off now because you already took my garter-belt off and they’re going to look stupid, so no.”

“I _had to_ to get your panties off.”

“No you didn’t, that’s why it has clips.”

“Whatever, whatever, whatever. I don’t want to argue just—it’s fine, I’ll slide them off, okay?”

She pressed a hand against Carmilla’s chest and pushed her down, on her back; against all of the soft, sweet-smelling pillows and hovered over her to tug each stocking off with diligent hands, thankfully lacking her earlier impatience. Once Carmilla was completely naked a look crossed Laura’s face like she’d been sweetly woken up. She kissed her way back up Carmilla’s body, leaving fires in her wake.

What a way to welcome night falling. With her legs spread, squirming under Laura’s hot palm; a line of kisses laid down her sternum like it were some sacred ritual.

Laura sucked her breasts; making soft heart-eyes at her. Carmilla could hardly stand to look into them. She whined like she wanted Laura to hurry and pushed down on her shoulders.

Laura pulled back with a pop (leaving Carmilla’s nipple wet and exposed; already missing her mouth).

Carmilla stared back at her; transfixed by the singular focus in her eyes—a kaleidoscope of all the autumn colors that left her feeling just as warm.

She let her hand get lost in the thick mass of Laura’s hair as the girl took her sweet time just staring at her.

It was way too long.

She grabbed Laura’s wrist in her hand and brought her palm to her breast till it latched on. She let the girl squeeze her for maybe a second before she started sliding her hand down, past the trembling length of her stomach until Laura was parting her, and moaning softly.

“God,” she sighed, as her palm slid, hot against Carmilla, “This is how wet you get just thinking about it? ‘Cause I haven't even touched you yet.”

“I came twice while I was eating you out,” Carmilla’s eyes were closed; she was already falling sweetly into bliss and her voice came as more or less a gasp, “First when I tasted your pussy, and then when I tasted your cum.”

Laura kissed her (soft lips crashing on hers suddenly) and before Carmilla could draw back to tell her more, she caught her lip in her teeth. She kissed her fully, swiping her tongue in Carmilla’s mouth; one reverent hand gliding along the curvature between the dip of her back and the swell of her ass while the other circled a hard pressure on her clit.

Carmilla couldn’t help crying out when she left her (though she kept it mostly in her throat). Laura was sliding down again, trailing more kisses on her body and Carmilla was already half-lost, already halfway there when Laura’s soft face nuzzled her mound, breathing her in before she took her in her mouth.

\\\

“Yes baby, _do_ it.”

She loved everything about Laura eating her out.

She loved the way Laura _looked,_ like this. Opening and closing her pretty little mouth over her clit.

She loved feeling Laura’s face scrunch up as she open-mouth kissed her entrance—splitting it with her tongue and fluttering it inside her.

She loved feeling her warm breath there— _the way she sort of pants into it—_ and how she breathed her in before taking her.

The way it really felt like she was tasting what she was doing.

The way she moaned into it.

The way she stretched her out.

How full she felt with three of her fingers.

How her shoulders felt under Carmilla’s palms; the muscles twitching.

And the way she always made it hit so suddenly—the way she always made it so devastating.

It swirled in and then outside her—it had so many waves. And each crashed harder. Each made her grip on tighter.

She loved that too.

The look on Laura’s face when she felt her coming.

Before everything faded to black and she floated off into the happy spaces in her head.

(She could feel Laura over her, a soft ballast, softly kissing her eyelids as her arms closed over Carmilla’s still trembling body).

\\\

It had been Laura’s idea, but Carmilla was the one who pointed out which box it was in right away. She couldn’t help noting that Laura had kept their toys when she’d found them (in a little zippered navy tote bag, inside a sealed box, inside another sealed box—all the seals got Carmilla’s attention, and well…). She’d thought Laura would’ve thrown them out, actually had started to wonder if she and Ann were getting serious when Laura buying this house became news amongst their friends.

And then Ann started tweeting about immature liars, mint-chip ice cream, and sad fanfics, and Carmilla smiled that whole day.

The wait hadn’t been _too_ long (but it had still been too long), between then and _this._

She watched Laura put it on—sliding the small hooked plug inside herself and letting the dildo-end bob between her legs, curled toward her navel. Carmilla could tell she was trying not to laugh; even as she positioned the little ridges at the base to press right against her clit and labia.

Laura thought all these things looked funny on her.

Their opinions differed there.

Anyway—the girl couldn’t stand the ones with the straps for reasons that made Carmilla giggle a bit, remembering them.

Laura squinted at her, “Why are you doing that back-of-the-hand over your big cheesy grin pose? Not that it’s not _adorable._ ”

She walked towards her with a smile and a slim silicone dong almost gracefully dangling off the apex of her thighs, and if anything Carmilla’s grin got cheesier. More Cheshire-y.

She stopped trying to hide it.

“Just—flashbacking to the first time I watched you put on a harness.”

It had been such a specifically adorable sight to see her fussing with the straps; frustration and gut-wrenching panic all over her features.

Finally her laughter slipped, trickling out of her, and Laura’s pretty face flushed hot, almost stop-sign red.

“I _told_ you not to look at me! Because I’d never done it—and I wasn’t sure how, and it’s like—what, a _jock_ strap thong made of like, bookbag straps? I’m a woman, how was I supposed to immediately—you know what? That was seven years ago. I’d been not-a-child for all of two years. And it’s not embarrassing to me anymore. And—it never should’ve been in the first place. Because my confusion was totally justified. Straight people get a whole class just to learn how to roll down a condom meanwhile I get a wad of straps in a cardboard box with some metal rings and a suction-cup dildo, with zero instruction, _plus_ a _very unhelpful_ useless vampire girlfriend choking on her own laughter in the background. Like gee, Carm—what a beautiful welcome into intimacy. No. It was _traumatizing_. So stop laughing. Or are you trying to piss me off again, because you reap some…sexual benefit from it?”

Carmilla was hooking one fine brow at her then, but before the slick retort could fall from her lips, Laura grabbed her firmly from the back of the neck with one hand and crashed their mouths together.

The kiss had her diligently sucking her own taste off Laura’s tongue.

Had her amusement been comically justified?

_Yes._

_Was_ she reaping some sexual benefit?

_Double yes._

Was she still sort of an ass?

_(More laughter, against Laura’s flexing lips)—okay, yes._

Things didn’t seem _too_ funny, though, when she felt the sudden weight and heat of Laura’s body on top of hers. When she heard the sound of Laura spitting on her own hand, and watched it as she grabbed the length she was connected to; making the toy between their bodies slick (Carmilla felt it sliding on her thigh).

Laura pointed it at her entrance, using its head to test the difficulty—how hard it would be to get it past the   tight ring of her opening. This was where Laura was patient. Hands soft on her hips; spreading her a little. She only gave inches as Carmilla stretched for them, until their bellies pressed together, and it had disappeared—moving inside her to the shiver of Laura’s hips.

Carmilla felt like she wasn’t ever ready to see her—with her tousled hair and girl-next-door face—glaring brightly at her; watching her love being filled like this. Filled like this by _her_.

“I love the look on your face right now,” Laura whispered it onto her sweating temple before kissing it (just making the fever hotter, no regards to damage).

_Maybe she really doesn’t know what she does?_

She licked up Laura’s salty skin (at the hollow of her collarbone that hammered like a punk drum solo and matched the way her hips picked up their pace; wildly, completely in rhythm with the raw animalistic passion inherent to it).                                

She spread herself wider on the bed, hooking the arches of her feet on Laura’s ass and digging in so the girl’s thrusts slammed harder against her. Because even when she had all of her, she still wanted _more._

“More! More!”

To make up for all the places where this wasn’t enough but _had_ to be.

Her nails dug into Laura’s shoulders and raked down without a second thought.

“God I love the way you fuck, cupcake.”

They were bouncing now. Laura’s new bed was creaking, and the sheets beneath them were getting soaked.

Laura kept one hand down over her own entrance to keep the toy in place (Carmilla missed it on her breast), “Damn it—I hate when I start to like it too much, then it gets too wet and starts trying to slide out. Do you feel it?”

Carmilla’s eyes rolled back; her dead heart maybe fluttered. Because this was pretty much Laura killing it in the dirty talk department, and fact was she _could_ feel her—making everything wet.

She crossed her legs behind Laura and trapped her, on her way down, when she was all sunk in; their naked bodies crushed together and grinding only as much as they could that way. Carmilla used Laura’s shoulders for leverage and slammed her hips up just to feel Laura shudder from the stimulation it gave her.

Her expression seized up, mouth frozen in a gasping ‘oh.’ Carmilla loved to tear her apart that way. There was a sweltering stretch to moments like these—they felt like fragments of whatever forever was made of. They made the clocks not tick.

And then she broke it. In true Laura Hollis style. Grabbing Carmilla by the waist and going all in with fast, deep rolls of her hips into where Carmilla was spreading even wider for her.

She tried to keep her eyes open the whole time Laura fucked her.

She tried to memorize this. The muscles flexing under her palms, the manic heartbeat pressed flush against her chest, the tumultuous thrusts and how sweet it felt to be split by them—the warm kisses along her jaw.      

Then (with a cry and a hard shudder) Laura came first.

Carmilla thanked herself, for holding off; watching Laura’s back as it arched and her face scrunched—eyes closed and brows furrowed, falling apart.

And the world went black for her too (one leg hooked behind Laura’s ass while pleasure pulsed inside her to overflowing). She still managed to keep Laura pressed firm against her as she convulsed—their mixed orgasm sliding down the toy to coat her inner thighs.

Carmilla whimpered, aching; still hollow for something even as Laura bit into her neck (where it met her shoulder) and kept shuddering her own orgasm against her.

It wasn’t enough.

She scraped her nails from Laura’s shoulder-blades to the dip in her lower back.

She wanted _all_ of it.

\\\


	11. Back to Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! Hope you like it.

\\\

Laura woke—still feeling her last orgasm. So with a smile and a grimace at once.

Her tendons were a little stiff but the ache was a happy one.

 _Besides,_ she woke up with her face nestled against the arc of Carmilla’s breast (it was so warm and it smelled so sweet) so how could she complain? The world was soft for once.

Her smile only broke as the realization hit that her alarm would be going off in what was at most minutes. And she’d be hurled right back to her regular, anxiety filled existence.

She cursed low in her throat.

It was _really_ cold outside. And it was really warm in her vampire’s arms. She didn’t want to get up from the comfy chest she lied on. The curves of Carmilla’s body and her scent were home to her in a way that gave her (finally) a working definition for serene. Something she’d lost the night that her father got a call about her mother that made his massive frame crumble in on itself, and changed everything.

She shook her head and rubbed her eyes, starting to slip away from all the warmth because she suddenly needed to _move_.

Whatever it was that kept her going through everything had to be kick-started hard today.

So would her scooter probably have to be.

And she could hear time ticking again—her heart beating harder to match it, which was something that never quite let her slip back into sleep (the way some people and demons do easily).

She sighed, a little bothered by everything.

Carmilla entwined her arms over Laura’s middle—where before they’d lain limp over her sides. She was up—nipping at Laura’s jaw, purring in her ear, “Then don’t _go_. I see it’s pissing you off.”

Laura squirmed out of the embrace and felt pangs of—she paused, trying to think (her brain still foggy)— _undefinable negative emotions_. She settled on it, and settled on looking up into Carmilla’s squinting eyes and pouting lips with a vague expression of resentment—it felt like it probably came out wry, and a little weak, “I _have to_ go.”

_“Why?”_

Laura smirked, but guessed it came off insincere as it felt, burning on her face, “The city needs me. Not just any heroine…will do.”

Carmilla rolled over, and scoffed, “Try not to trip on your cape on the way out, Supergirl.”

“Actually,” Laura said (though Carmilla’s feigning sleep may well have been real, and actually really looked it), “Supergirl’s cape is relatively short most of the time. _Also_ , a good girlfriend would be tying my cape up and wishing me a good crime-fighting day, not trying to get me to play hooky in bed and then getting all guilt-trippy and passive-aggressive-y about it.”

Laura bit her lip because—by the way Carmilla’s naked shoulders moved; the muscles shifting visibly across the delicate expanse of her lean back—she could tell the girl was awake.

And she knew, as she rightly should, that the subject of their relationship’s classification (namely how it was _un_ classified) was a touchy subject for Carmilla. So of course, Laura had touched it. Inadvertently maybe, but definitely.

And now the air hung heavy with her mistake. She twisted her lip between her teeth, worrying.

_Should I say more things?_

_Should I say things until one of them is the right thing?_

_Should I say something snarky_ before _she says something snarky like: “Good thing I’m not your girlfriend, then.” Because that’s definitely what she’s going to say. There’s no other—_

Then finally (her voice a little raspy how Laura had grown used to in the mornings), she said, “Come on, Hollis—that’s not even the worst thing you’ve said to me this week. If you really want to make it up—hit the alarm _before_ it goes off.”

With barely a second to spare, Laura did.

_I knew keeping quiet was the right thing._

She smiled, cautiously; swiping left on her phone before Patrick Stump could start singing anything.

 _Just testing me_.

\\\

It was pretty how the black concrete was glowing orange in spots where the sun reflected off the sheen the rain from the night before left but there was still an ache in her chest from where she really just _missed_ Carmilla. And she didn’t understand it.

She’d just _left_ her.

Warm and safe and asleep—on _her_ bed.

(Also, naked.)

The ache in her chest grew more hollow—like it was burrowing for a more comforting spot in her.

Well—maybe that was it.

_I’m sad because I’m a pervert—or—_

Maybe she’d been safe in Carmilla’s arms too recently and it made the morning wind that much more biting.

It didn’t even need the _help._

She sighed, and pulled the throttle all the way to the bottom because she already wanted the day to just _end_.

\\\

She walked into her office, sneezing and miserable.

“It’s so _cold_ outside.”

She tugged at her mittens with her teeth.

Noelle laid her head on her crossed forearms, and her crossed forearms on her tiny desk.

“I bet,” she murmured, face distinctly groggy, “On that _ruckus._ ”

“Chyeah _,”_ Laura shivered, “You can’t even imagine. It _does_ wake you up though.”

Noelle squinted, “I’ll take a cup of coffee over the forty degree scooter ride. But—you know—we can’t _all_ be mad here. Want a cup?”

“Is there sugar?”

“There’s hot water and whatever’s on the inside of a Keurig cup. Magic? Beans? Both? _Anyway_ —it’s enough for the likes of me. Bye, elitist.”

Laura watched her lackadaisically roll herself (with clumsy foot-shuffling) in her office chair, out the door; all the while eyeing her critically.

She sort of shook her head, tugging her scarf from inside her parka and hanging everything on the rack by the door. She was in four or five layers.

It didn’t matter. It was always cold anyway.

She closed her eyes—feeling all of a sudden, in a flash, the memory of the last time she’d been warm (the scent of Carmilla’s chest—the calming heat that radiated from it and imprinted itself all night upon her cheek). It was maybe forty-five minutes ago. At _most_. But the feeling was all gone already.

It felt as if the shift happened too quickly.

It set her up for a foul mood.

Her bookbag just sort of sagged off her shoulder to her desk. And she slumped into her chair right after it.

She raked a hand through her hair; tossing it so it fell to one side.

She felt even more annoyed than usual at her lack of leads or damning evidence. Sitting at her desk, feeling useless and uncomfortable. Some raw emotion nagging at her in the background of her thoughts; sounding like bees buzzing indistinguishably.

She closed her eyes against it but was honestly too tired to oppose it with any real conviction. It was only like—eight thirty in the morning.

“ _What_ a shit-face.”

Noelle’s voice seemed rather high-pitched. Laura looked up, mouth curving to let loose with some biting response when she saw the cardboard take-away cup holder with two steaming drinks perched in the girl’s lap. She was still rolling herself around in her chair.

“Laney decided to pay us back for last time,” Noelle put one drink down on Laura’s desk, “She got you a hot chocolate with a shot of espresso because you looked like you needed it. Isn’t she—”

“The best?” Laura’s face broke into a sudden smile, hand already wrapping gratefully around her drink; absorbing its warmth, “Yes, and consequently—far out of your league.”

Noelle’s dark eyes were deadpan, but still flashed with the usual light of mirth they naturally possessed, “You know you can’t just send, like, waves of anger at somebody and expect them to know why you’re mad at them, right? Oh _wait_ —”

Her tone made Laura roll her eyes but (busy sipping her drink) she let her continue.

“Are you all Ms. Pissy right now because of yesterday?”

Laura’s face scrunched up—she was struggling a bit, with keeping up conversation when her headspace felt so cramped with _everything_. She gulped down hot chocolate mixed with the barest hint of bitterness, and _it_ at least was wonderful. She set her cup down neatly on the desk before finally responding, “ _What_?”

Noelle held up her hands, as if in defeat, “I plan to be the bigger person: L, I’m sorry I hit on your lady yesterday—”

Laura slid both palms across her face, “Oh god…”

“No, no,” Noelle shook her head, mouth drawn into a serious frown, “I _am_ sorry. But don’t be _catty_ , Laura. Just because I inadvertently trespassed your territory.”

“Are you using that word correctly?”

“Probably not, I don’t know. Which word? _Trespassed_? I have no idea.”

A deep breath puffed up Laura’s cheeks before she slowly blew it out, “Noellz…it’s—I’m not mad. Let’s drop it and you know…just— _work_.”

“Well _I’m_ pretty pissed about it.”

Laura almost laughed. Then she just watched her; mouth open to scoff or grin, but holding off on both, “Of course you are.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Noelle nodded, with a very principled expression, “You couldn’t have given me a _signal_? You made me look like a butt. I was so lame in front of a pretty girl because of you. No. Not even. A beautiful _woman_. A beautiful woman in her mid-twenties with a well-put-together life or at least enough income to walk around a Victoria’s Secret with _a basket_. Okay, there was a sale, but _still_ , that’s ridiculous. That’s the _dream_ , Laura. _Literally_ my dream. And you made me look like a butt in front of my dream.”

Laura (halfway through her drink then, and much more alert) began unzipping her bag; placing things very gingerly on her desk—her laptop, her notes, her pens; different colors for cross-referencing. She relegated conversation to the auto-pilot sector of her brain while she started looking things over.

“Oh please. _I’m_ in my mid-twenties and let’s see if we can gauge how I’m doing: 93% of my life is focused on work and the rest is pretty much occupied by whatever’s on Netflix, I just finished paying off my student loans and decided a _mortgage_ was a bright idea, _and_ the last home-cooked meal I had was literally last thanksgiving at my dad’s. And I still have dreams about the way the mashed potatoes tasted. So—there goes your sweaty teenage-girl image of women in their mid-twenties. I hope. Especially Carmilla, hands off. Besides, that woman could be—three-hundred and forty _two_ and still retain the maturity of _you_ two years ago, when you wanted to live out of your car and play the ukulele all day for quote-unquote food-money.”

Noelle hummed approvingly at herself-two-years-ago, “Still solid goals.”

“Nobody’s gonna pay you for that—you’d starve.”

“A-ha!” She pointed a long index finger at Laura, “I _knew_ you were pissed. Look at how pissed you are. Just be honest you don’t like that I hit on your lady and we can move past it quicker.”

“I’m not pissed!”

It seemed loud, even to Laura. And gauging by how wide Noelle’s eyes were, her too. When she spoke again, though, it seemed quiet (maybe just in comparison), “She’s…not even my girlfriend. So there’s nothing even to be pissed about. So can we just get to work now, please?”

Noelle’s lips twisted up.

Laura counted maybe three Mississippis worth of silence before the girl couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Okay—and—maybe I’m _wrong_ —” she started.

“Oh there’s a really good chance of _that_ —” Laura rubbed at her right temple with her index and middle fingers.

Noelle kept on, as if she’d never heard her, “ _But_ —it just seems like…there’s a lot to unpack here. Because you’re usually pretty tightly wound, L—but _today_. _Jesus._ And—mind you, when you came in walking a little funny I thought you’d be in just…the most chipper mood ever—but _no_ —ass-face, ass-attitude, all ass all the time. So—maybe, we can talk about it? ‘Cause there’s obviously stuff to talk about.”

Laura made some dismissive noise with her mouth, shaking her head, “Like I’m gonna talk to _you_ about this.”

Noelle deflated a bit.

“Well why don’t you talk to…your friends about it? Didn’t you go to college with _all_ of them? They know Carmilla.”

Laura scoffed, conjuring up her three judgey-gingers and _Kirsch._

“Yeah, that’s the problem—they _know_ Carmilla. And they do not _like_ Carmilla. They don’t even know we’re still keeping up this whole…ambiguous— _sex_ thing we’re doing.”

Noelle squinted, “Wait…so—you can’t talk to _any_ of them?”

Laura licked her lips, counting them off on one hand, “I’m not gonna talk to Danny, because—no. And, Perry just agrees with her. And Laf just shakes their head and looks at the ground and says ‘blah, blah blah, insert irrelevant usually horrifying information here.’ And I’m not gonna talk to Kirsh about it, because I might as well talk to a _puddle_ for all the help it’ll do. And then for _sure_ he’d blab to _D-bear_ about it. And that would just start—a whole thing. So there’s no one left. Except my cat. And well—my cat is biased too. That’s the mom that picked all her little fleas out when we found her.”

“Damn, L—can’t even talk to your _cat_ ,” Noelle looked at the ground, lashes framing her eyes mischievously, “Too bad those are _all_ your friends.”

Laura smirked, drolly, “Yup.”

 _“Laura!_ ”

She chuckled lightly, watching Noelle’s indignation, before saying, finally, “There’s not even anything…to tell. I mean— we’ve broken up _three times_. We are clearly not good at this. There’s nothing to say when you’re talking about two women who—over a span of seven years—are still circling the same argument, and getting nowhere.”

“Seems actually—” Noelle started up, but the phone rang, and Laura answered it swiftly—mostly to end the conversation.

“Miss Hollis,” Laney’s bright, clear voice rang in her ear.

“What’s up, Lane?”

“Your dad’s on line one.”

“My dad?” her heartrate picked up, trying to remember the last time she’d been a good daughter ( _Fuck_ — _Thanksgiving),_ “Uh yeah, put him through.”

A click, and then, “ _Kiddo_?”

“Hey dad—how _are_ you?”

His laughter in her ear made all the dread dissipate.

“I’m good—glad to be at this point in our relationship where I have to go through your secretary.”

“Laney’s a receptionist. _Noelle’s_ my secretary.”

Laura smirked, watching Noelle scoff in her chair, “Fuck you—but tell him hi.”

“Dad, Noelle says fuck you.”

He hummed, “Tell her to fuck off too.”

She nodded, turning back to the girl, “He says fuck off.”

Hearing his laughter, she could almost _see_ his wide smile, “Staying out of trouble, kiddo?”

“Yeah,” she blanched, “You know me—no trouble at all.”

“And the move,” he cleared his throat, his rough baritone a little clearer, “Everything work out? Did Carmilla like it?”

“Carmilla?” she choked a bit, coughing, “Um yeah. The move, Carmilla, everything’s—good.”

He sighed, and she could almost feel it in her own chest.

“I miss you two,” he told her, “I know it’s been busy but…seems like forever since you two came out here _together_. I just—it’d be…you know… _nice,_ is all…”

Her heart beat heavy—feeling like a time bomb in her ribs, “Oh—the two of us. Just—um— _yeah_ , no—uhh—let me just—you know, run it _by_ her and—you know—could I—call you back? Um—tonight?”

He brightened up. She did too (just at having some more time).

“Okay—perfect. I’ll talk to you later then, kid.”

“Talk—talk to you later, dad.”

She sighed, placing the phone down solemnly (carefully, as if it were somehow physically connected to him).

She ignored Noelle’s beaming smirk.

(For like, three Mississippis)

Before—“Okay—so—so my dad thinks we’re still together. That’s—it’s just—we were really off and on and then—I don’t like to give him bad news…is…my thing. And he really loves her. And—you know what—none of your business—back to work.”

 


	12. Do We Really Have to Fight?

\\\

Licking up Laura’s salty skin was a favorite pastime. From the girl’s collarbone and up her neck, Carmilla’s tongue traced a path.

It had been a few (annoying) days since she’d last been summoned here. She tried not to wonder why.

And she tried not to note Laura’s glassy eyes, or the time of night—the fact that her mouth tasted like a heady mix of girly drinks when they kissed. Tart berries and sugar and alcohol.

Laura backed up till she was falling into her new couch and Carmilla climbed onto her lap to keep kissing her. The boxes were all gone now. Everything was in a neat order; a few pieces of furniture found a fitting niche, and some of Laura’s posters were up on the walls. That fact was a nice surprise. The fact that it felt like Laura’s _place_ all of a sudden and how the thought caused a soft warmth to ripple through her chest.

A shiver jumped down her spine at the glare in Laura’s eyes as she settled herself back against the sofa cushions. It was always obvious what the girl wanted when it came to sex (subtlety wasn’t her thing in regards to anything really but _especially_ when it came to intimacy).

Her hips bucked up against her, and Carmilla took pity; tugging on the buttons of her jeans and pulling them off.

Eager moans were already falling from the girl’s pretty pink lips.

Carmilla smiled, hovering over Laura’s open lap (her legs had fallen that way easily, after her jeans finally came off). She pressed her face against the soft cotton of her panties—already quite soaked through—and mumbled, “Navy with white polka dots.”

Laura threw her head back, laughing, “Why do you always have to… _announce_ it?”

Carmilla hummed against her, not explaining. Focused on laying light kisses along the cotton and a harder one where she felt the indent of Laura’s clitoris.

Two strong thighs split at either side of her head kept her face in place against Laura’s mound. The girl’s voice was breathy when she spoke, “Take them off babe, come on. I really want it.”

Carmilla tugged at them with her teeth till they were mid-thigh, then bunched them in her hand and ripped them off.

They’d been pretty and everything but—it was too sexy; how little Laura’s voice got when she begged, and Carmilla couldn’t help herself. It made it impossible to do anything but immediately surrender—slice her tongue through Laura’s soft folds with no hesitation.

The wetness coated her tongue right away; not entirely sweet but quite far from bitter. She lapped it up faithfully because it was her favorite taste.

Laura used both hands to spread herself, lifting the hoodie up from her clit so Carmilla’s tongue could stroke it directly. She kept her eyes fixed on Carmilla’s and something fluttered in Carmilla’s chest at their appearance—swirls of gold coiled around the light-brown like rings over two large planets.

Carmilla focused fully on Laura, taking in the curve of her open mouth, her glowing tendons beneath a silver sheen of sweat, and the nervous bob in her throat as she swallowed, while the whining girl leant back on her hands so she could watch herself as she rode Carmilla’s mouth. The space between their gazes was electric; sparking with energy. Carmilla couldn’t look away. In the first place, their eyes were like magnets—in the second, she’d never want to miss a moment of this; Laura coming apart under her.

Laura’s breathing was labored, her speech was staggered; she was practically panting as she spoke, “L-let me see your tongue babe—when you—”

Carmilla pulled back dutifully, extending her tongue and circling it around (never directly on) Laura’s clitoris.

The girl yelped, “Ugh—but don’t tease me.”

Her mouth still hanging open, Carmilla somehow managed a savage smirk; looking up at Laura and blinking at her slowly because she knew it was what the girl got off on—watching her while she did it.

She grabbed onto Laura’s thighs (noting how feverish her skin was) as she dove deeper into her, applying more pressure with every stroke of her tongue—now sliding exclusively over her hot pulsing clit.

Her face was getting soaked and she was so grateful for it. For the taste, and the texture—for Laura’s jumping hips and the way her breathing grew erratic. Strands of hair stuck to the side of her face, dark with sweat, and Carmilla knew she had at most minutes to enjoy this before the girl was coming (by the looks of things, most likely passing out the way she often did).

Laura’s desperate fingers were now threading in her hair, raking her scalp; pressing her harder into it. Carmilla stalled her movements, letting Laura grind herself selfishly—whatever way she wanted. She was glad she didn’t need to breathe, because her nose was mashed against Laura’s mound, and her mouth was in a tight seal around her clit; sucking gently while she licked her.

Laura’s hips surged up, jolting her body up from the couch on every upward swing, and Carmilla pressed her palms against her ass to try to hold her in place. Somehow her mouth managed to stay on the girl’s clit, even as her thrusts grew more erratic. Until she suddenly paused, hips twitching a few times violently as her back arched. Her hand slid down Carmilla’s hair; tilting her head back so she could see her face better.

“God, I love when your pretty brown eyes look up at me, Carm,” she whined, “It’s—it’s gonna make me come!”

She looked up in time to see Laura slump over, whimpering, before her little body shuddered and a warm, thick slickness filled Carmilla’s mouth.

\\\

She curled up into Laura on the couch, her cheek on the girl’s chest. Right over her heartbeat.

She _had_ passed out, her breathing even for a few minutes before Carmilla looked up to see her lashes flutter, and a lazy smile creep onto her face.

She ran a hand up under Laura’s sweater, so that she could feel her stomach twitch—her skin hot and slick with sweat.

“I’m not even _naked_ yet,” Laura sort of snickered, “And I came so _hard_.”

Carmilla smiled, but her mind was sort of occupied. She drew lazy figures against the muscles in Laura’s stomach, “Where were you tonight?”

“Oh!” Laura sat up suddenly, “I forgot to tell you! It’s awesome. I was out celebrating with Noellz and some friends because—Carm, I came up with the best plan. Like, we were getting nowhere with the Cyleron article—no leads, nothing, _so_ —I finally got the brilliant idea to have JP hack into their network—you know, if _anyone_ could get past all their firewalls, it’d be him. So a few nights ago we—like, all in black and ski masks and everything, we broke into their building. It was _crazy._ There were booby traps and guards everywhere. And _Carm_ —some sort of giant guard dogs. Like—huge wolves, but not wolves at all really. In shock collars. Anyway, finally we found the mainframe, JP did his thing, and I have—in my possession—like _years_ worth of wrongdoing and outright like—evil deeds these dudes have been up to. They experiment on people, turn them into half-beast chimeras, and then _sell_ them for _millions_. Yeah. Freaking big time evil. I’m almost done with the article. I figure I’ll finish it when we go to my—oh! I almost forgot. Um—do you want to go with me? To visit my dad for a week? I mean, I know it’s last minute—but don’t tell me you don’t miss his giant bear hugs, ‘cause I _know_ you do. I booked the train tickets and everything, and um, boarding is free and warm, and food is free _and_ delicious. So…it’s sort of a no-brainer. Did I mention all the small-town charm? ‘Cause I know you love it.”

Carmilla had been frowning for a while but doubted Laura had ever noticed, “ _What_ friends?”

Laura’s mouth twisted up in confusion, her eyes squinting, “What…friends?”

Carmilla shrugged, getting off of the girl, and off of the couch, because it was suddenly too warm in Laura’s orbit, “You and Noelle went out with friends? Your only friends are the ginger crew, and they’ve been at your old apartment playing cards against humanity all night. Making terribly annoying snapchats every five seconds.”

Laura gaped, “ _Seriously_? Out of all that, what I just said—you focus on—”

Carmilla watched her scoff, and shake her head. Which if anything was just more damning evidence.

Laura was pouting, “Do we really have to fight about nothing right now? We haven’t even had your turn yet.”

Carmilla licked her lips, considering leaving. She watched as Laura slid up from the couch, still naked from the waist down; stepping forward until she and Carmilla were nearly nose to nose. She seemed to search Carmilla’s eyes, and then sighed, “Okay. It was Noelle, and Laney, a receptionist in our office that Noelle really likes, and the fourth girl was one of Laney’s friends, _okay_. But—it wasn’t like that. I was trying to be a good friend to Noelle—I mean, yes, she’s a _pain_ , but she’s still my best friend since brain-sucked Betty. And I got a little wrapped up in the spirit of celebration—everyone was chanting, ‘we’re gonna get these guys’ and we totally _are_. All we did was drink and be _loud_. It’s not like I was out on a date with anybody. I _wasn’t_.”

Something like a light stopped flickering in Carmilla’s chest. She only realized its existence at its absence. She felt melodramatic and almost felt like smiling, but really didn’t.

“No. But you could be. And that—you can do that. There’s nothing preventing you from that, the way things are right now.”

Laura’s pretty face scrunched up, “Yeah, and you _either_.”

Carmilla shrugged, “But I don’t want to. And I _really_ don’t want you to. And that’s…not healthy, taking into account our current arrangement so I…just can’t do it anymore. I can’t do this anymore, Laura.”

Laura’s eyes were glassy again, but this time with tears, still focused, totally sober, “What’re you saying?”

“It would be one thing—if it was really just sex. But you’re… _confusing._ You act all soft with me, and dedicate a room in your house to me, and want me to spend a week with you and your dad, growing more attached like that’s perfectly okay to do, but it _really_ isn’t. I need you to know that it feels _awful_. It feels worse than if it were just sex, do you understand that? Because I give you everything. I treat you like my girlfriend, and it’s still not enough. You still—you try to find that—that _exact thing_ I’m giving you with other girls and I…I’m not going to put myself through watching that _a second_ time around. Because when you started pushing me out of your life obviously just to make room for Ann it—”

She cut herself off, biting hard at her bottom lip. She really didn’t want to say any more.

When she spoke again, it was with a heavy tiredness, “I’m not going to do this anymore. And I’m…not going to see your dad with you. Go ahead and be irrationally pissed about it I guess.”

Laura’s mouth was drawn in a firm line, “Will do.”

Her eyes flashed at Carmilla, and she could feel their cutting glare against her back as she walked out the door.

\\\

After some stalking around in the moonlight, Carmilla found herself at the bar of her sister’s hotel, sat across her, with her chin perched on her palm; nursing a fourth blood martini.

“It’s surreal,” she sort of slurred, “To be here again.”

Mattie nodded, “It _is_ rather boring.”

Carmilla stared into the thick crimson swirling in her glass, “After all these years—still brooding over Laura Hollis.”

“Laura Hollis is _toast_.”

Their bartender for the night, an annoying gremlin that kept eavesdropping, replaced Mattie’s empty glass with a new one, and repeated himself, in a voice much deeper than his own, and a tone that didn’t match him, “Laura Hollis is _toast._ ”

Carmilla’s arm blurred with the speed of its action—she wrapped one hand around his throat, and squeezed, “Oh yeah—and where did you hear _that_?”

She let him choke for a second, before relaxing her grip, and watched him coughing, “Those—those Cyleron guys that were here before said it. They said—on her vacation, back home, they’d send assassins, and—Laura Hollis is toast before she ever finishes that damn article!”

He finished off in the same deep voice, same unsettling tone. She let him go, her jaw clenching, watching him gravely, “Is that all they said?”

He nodded quickly, holding his neck. She motioned for him to go, and sat for minutes in silence.

Mattie watched her, lips wound in a wry smirk, “So what’re you going to do now, sis? No wait—let me guess…”

\\\


	13. No Thanks for the Mmrs

_\\\_

_“What does the sunlight feel like?”_

_“Pinpricks,” Carmilla shrugged, “It’s not so bad it just—reminds me that I’m not…really a living thing. I’m a perverse version of it.”_

_Laura watched the side of her face. She was devastatingly beautiful; showered in starlight._

_They were up in the solarium. Laura was still floating on her high._

_It had been their first time._ Her _first time._

 _Gentle but_ desperate _, definitely._

_The night air cooled Laura off a little. She watched Carmilla shiver (her glowing skin tugging at that ache in Laura that never really went away) and she wrapped both arms around the full width of the vampire’s body in response._

_She wanted to give Carmilla all of her warmth. She kissed her cheeks, her brow, her little widow’s peak, until she reached her open mouth and they were starting again._

_They didn’t make it back downstairs until just minutes before dawn, holding hands to their room. Laura opened the door for her and when they stepped inside—everything was different. It was all infinitely better._

\\\

_I’m gonna make you bend and break (it sent you to me without wings)—_

Laura woke up gasping, and sweating, from her memory.

She smacked her phone so hard it bounced off the bed. Her thumb missed the slide completely; it kept singing.

Her heart was racing.

Her body was cold.

She swiped a hand through her hair and remembered—everything she had to do that day.

She rang her to-do list off in her head like a mantra; letting it fill the varying gnawing holes spreading dreadfully across her body (but especially in her chest).

Yes, it still felt like someone cut a hole in her. But she thought she was better at dealing with break-ups now than before. Even better at compartmentalizing; placing it neatly in the lowest pit of her heart and stacking any and everything she could find on top.

She bit her lip with determination, and fumbled hastily out of bed.

_There’s so much I have to do today…_

\\\

 _First—_ a half-day at work that consisted mostly of picking up her files for her trip home. And glaring at Noelle until the girl finally gaped back. _Stupidly_ , Laura thought at her.

“Dude—remember how I told you not even so long ago that I can’t read your mind based off the _daggers_ your eyes are throwing at me? Like I get that you’re mad—but why?”

Laura only shook her head, her eyes downcast. She didn’t want to talk. She only wanted to keep moving forward with her work. She perused her notes, jotting things in the pages’ margins—messy, shorthand. She was usually neat, but her mind was going too fast to keep up with that way.

She felt Noelle’s eyes, unwaveringly fixed to her face. She couldn’t see them or anything—but she could definitely sense the condescension.

“I’m not pissed about anything. Or anything about anything. So drop it.”

She looked up in time to see the girl’s face—dark brows peaked like she definitely didn’t believe her. Laura met her stare, _“What_?”

“You’re not _anything_?” Noelle pursed her lips at her; her eyes squinting, “About…anything? Right. So…you and Carmilla had a fight. _Continue_.”

Some half-hearted soft sigh escaped Laura’s lips. She’d meant to scoff or— _hiss_ even. But what came out was not strong, acerbic, or derisive. It was noticeably broken. It barely even disrupted the air, coming out of her mouth.

She sort of gave up all at once, forehead falling on her own clenched fist and her elbow perched uncomfortably (though she didn’t at all care) on her desk.

“ _Yeah_. We did.”

Noelle watched her, brows furrowed compassionately.

Laura licked her lips to start talking, “I don’t know—it’s dumb. Everything was…fine. I _think_ —”

“You’re probably wrong,” Noelle smirked; nodding patiently for her to continue.

“I mean,” Laura shrugged, “It all happened the night we went out with Laney and, I think— _Hannah_? Her friend. Anyway…I texted Carmilla while you were still driving us all home and she was in my house already by the time I got there. And things were…normal. She wasn’t mad or anything. We had sex.”

“…were you awful?”

“ _No_ ,” Laura glared, “If it were just that then—great, I would just…get better. We hadn’t even _gotten_ to that part. We were cuddling a-after you _know_ and—it was…really nice. She was playing with my stomach. Then she asked where I was that night and—I told her we were all hanging out and celebrating—and I told her, you know—what we _did_ , and how we were for sure going to get these guys. And she—was just _mad_. I don’t know.”

She broke eye contact with Noelle’s wide eyes, flitting hers to the ceiling, asking her, “ _What_?”

Noelle spoke slowly, incredulously, “You…told your girl you went out all night with _me_ and two other lesbians? Like, I’ve literally hit on her—she _knows_ I’m about that life. Wow, Laura, you don’t even know how to lie. _Shame_ on you, Laura.”

“Lie?” Laura scrunched her face up at her, “ _Really_? Over something so stupid?”

“To avoid a stupider argument, sure,” Noelle shrugged.

Laura shook her head. It came off as half-hearted as she felt because these were all moot points anyway.

“It’s not even about that, you know,” Laura looked off, eyes glazed over, all the papers scattering her desk blending into some white cloud, “She’s been mad at me for a while. I think that was just…like, a moment. One of those where—she’s been keeping something in and trying to go _along_ with me instead of just—and I mean…I _know_ I’m hardheaded. I know I bring up all our problems when we talk, but they’re _there_ —what does she want me to do? I don’t know. Then—that’s where we always end up. With her walking away finally when…we reach the moment I fucked up so _bad_ that she just couldn’t take me anymore. I mean there’s like—a _dozen_ of these moments over the span of our whole relationship now. And then I guess there’ll be one and she’ll…never come back from that one,” she swallowed hard, willing her tears to stay within the barrier of her lashes, “Maybe it was this one.”

Noelle stood up from her desk, walking swiftly over and circling her arms over Laura, “L…”

Laura rested her forehead against her friend’s shoulder, feeling the weight of all her past decisions—it felt like her spine would crumble underneath it, “It’s—it’s probably better to have it end now than…in a worse way, I guess—it’s just—it’s never exactly fun to watch her walk away.”

Noelle let her go, but stayed in her space, meeting her eyes, “Look—it’s not like I really know much about you two. But I can tell you love her. I mean, you’re easy to read, L—you’re either all in with something or you don’t even _think_ about it. And you’re all in when it comes to her. You can’t even pretend you don’t care. And she—she definitely cares about you too. So…I don’t get why you guys just can’t _try_.”

Laura sighed, deeply, “It’s a little hard to believe she cares when she walks out any time I do something she doesn’t like.”

Noelle raised her brow.

“Women don’t _buy lingerie_ to wear specifically in the bedroom with you unless they really give a fuck about you. They don’t get pissed when you go out unless they care. They don’t stay your lover for years—through your possibly most emotionally impetuous years—unless they care. So she definitely cares.”

Laura leaned back in her chair; looking up, mouth closed firmly. She could feel Noelle watching her.

“L—you really should talk to someone about this. Someone who knows the situation from both sides. Because—for a journalist—you’re really hellbent on a very slanted telling of this story. She cares about you. You care about her. So—what’s the issue?”

Laura got up, stiffly. She started to pack; stuffing her papers arbitrarily into her binder.

“I—have to go. It’s—I have to go home and get ready to leave. I have to be at the station by four.”

Noelle backed off, nodding softly at her, “Need a ride there?”

Laura shook her head, gathering her laptop and checking to make sure the USB loaded with all the info they’d hacked from Cyleron was there, “No—Danny’s taking me.”

“You like her better?”

Laura sort of smirked, something like a laugh escaping her nose, “She offered first.”

“Hmm.”

She slung her bookbag over her shoulder, and grabbed her helmet; nodding softly at her friend because she really didn’t want to bring anything up between them anymore.

It had almost been too much to be honest.

\\\

She arrived home with renewed purpose. Still a lot left to do.

 _Second_ : She printed the tickets. She printed them both and neatly cut out both. And stuffed both into the front pocket of her yellow pea coat. Reason being she’d already _bought_ two. And so—

 _Third_ : She moved her packed suitcases downstairs. It was sort of a debacle; they were much heavier than anticipated.

 _Fourth_ : She packed Marble Poundcake’s food and bed for Danny to take and explained to her why she was going to be gone a while. Marble watched her apathetically until she grew distracted by something somewhere much more interesting than Laura.

 _Fifth_ : She ate for the first time that day—it was oatmeal, with apple slices and cinnamon.

 _Sixth_ : She thought she had more to do, before Danny came. She sat on her kitchen island with her hand tangled in her hair, trying not to think. The time flashing on her home screen watched her and she glared back. She didn’t want to play with her phone. She didn’t want to be disappointed by what was or wasn’t on it.

Obviously Carmilla’s face flashed through her mind a couple times. But she didn’t give her any _thought_.

She heard Danny walking in through the garden door connecting the kitchen and the backyard. She wasn’t so much surprised, as mildly put off that she didn’t have as much time to mentally prepare as she thought. The girl reached her almost straight away.

“Hollis!”

She took a deep breath, getting up, “Hey.”

Danny frowned at her a bit, “Thought I’d come early in case—”

Laura looked up then, hoping her eyes came off guarded and dark and not at all open, “In case what?”

She watched Danny watching her, a little uncomfortable under the sharp scrutiny, “In case of anything, really. Do you need any help with anything?”

Laura only shook her head.

Danny squinted her eyes at her then and Laura wondered if she’d maybe noticed anything but she only licked her lips before asking, “So is _Carmilla_ going with you finally or is…she still MIA?”

Laura couldn’t help asking, “Why do you always spit her name out of your mouth like you’re a baby and she’s a bunch of mushed up banana?”

Some part of her would always be protective of Carmilla when it came to Danny because of their past. The girl took a few steps back, looking away.

“Sorry,” Danny’s jaw flexed under her pale skin for a fraction of a second, “I didn’t really realize.”

Laura could feel her shoulders tightening up, her entire body sort of seizing suddenly, “It’s just—you know—been _years_ since the two of you even had something to be fighting over and I _still_ can’t even talk to you about her without expecting some sort of cutting response or something—”

Danny’s brows furrowed, she swallowed like her mouth was dry, “Is there something to talk about or something—‘cause I thought you gave up on that whole—”

“I mean of course—it’s easy to have you think that,” Laura scoffed, “Because it’s the version you want to be true.”

“O—kay,” Danny’s eyes kept flitting around like she was trying to grasp a too-wide portrait, “So…it’s _not_ the version that’s actually true then?”

“No,” Laura shut her eyes, remembering Noelle’s advice. To talk to someone with a full perspective. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked Danny over suspiciously—not fully sure yet that she could be that person.

“Well then,” a breath escaped from Danny’s lips that sounded nearly painful, “What _is_ then?”

Their gazes locked, they studied each other. Something in Danny had softened, Laura noted. Still, she kept her mouth closed.

The taller girl closed enough distance between them that Laura could now feel the heat of her body, and dipped her head enough that she could really look at Laura face to face, “Look—yeah a part of me is pretty much going to be wrapped up in some perpetual rivalry with Carmilla Karnstein for the rest of my life. And she wasn’t exactly my first choice for you. I mean, _I_ was. And then—anyone but _her_ was my second choice but—it’s not up to me who you fall for. I know I’m prone to judge her a bit harshly. And I don’t think a vampire would make an ideal partner for pretty much any human in the same way you don’t see wildebeests dating lionesses but—you’re my friend, and this is your life, and you can—tell me about it.”

Laura broke again. Second time that day (maybe she wasn’t as ace at compartmentalizing as she thought she was). A staggered breath escaped her chest and she could feel some heavy door within it begin to tentatively open, “She’s the one I love. The only one I’ll ever love. I just know—that’s it, you know? For that part of my life…I don’t have anything to give to anyone else. Because it’s all hers. And I’m bored of trying...to change that. It’s stupid. I just—have to deal with this. This is my life. This is my life, and it’s scary, and you’re my _friend_ —and for once—couldn’t you just—put aside everything and just—just _help me_. I’m freaking out. She wants me to have everything figured out but I _don’t_. Because I still don’t even understand why we broke up all those times. Or how we’re supposed to make it work. You’re…you can be honest, Danny. Just tell me the truth. Why do you think? Are we just not…meant to be, like that? Is it just some tragedy?”

She watched Danny’s jaw sink in and could tell she was biting the inside of her cheek. Laura knew it probably wasn’t easy for her.

Finally, her pale blue eyes looked up into Laura’s, “Okay, so I—really can’t tell you whether you’re meant to be. I’m not even going to _pretend_ I can be objective about that so—skipping that entirely…insofar as why you broke up. Well—I was there for all of them. And we were still a pretty tight-knit group then so…I even saw _her_ side a bit. And well—here’s the truth, Laura. The first time, it was completely your fault.”

Laura’s mouth fell open, gaping in a perfect ‘o,’ “ _What_? Her dumping me at one of my lowest points was _my_ fault?”

Danny nodded sharply, repetitively.

“You were being a total creep—trying to make her change for you when the girl you fell for was the one…that sat around all day reading books and spouting useless philosophical crap; being an asshole generally and an all-around lazy slob. Super charming right? But you definitely wanted her. And then when you finally got her all you praised her for was this incredibly traumatic moment where she killed her own mother—a centuries-old bond that you probably will never comprehend; I mean, it was super twisted for sure but it was _there_ —and you just…like blew _right_ past that as if it didn’t matter. And kept expecting her to be some vigilante for you. Which is what _you_ want to be, not her. You can’t just use her for vampiric muscle at your own will, that was _bullshit_. You were such a shit girlfriend I was almost _glad_ you know? Like I’d dodged this young, clueless asshole.”

Danny paused for a second as if to let it sink in, and Laura sucked in a breath. Something in her chest stung badly. How had she never thought through this on her own? From Carmilla’s perspective? The extent of it suddenly made her sick.

 _Have I been right about_ anything?

Danny's eyes raked much more gently over her face. Like she was really pitying her.

“The second time though… _was_ her. She shouldn’t have asked you if you wanted her to turn you when you’d made it obvious from the start that was going to be your choice.”

“ _Yeah_.”

Laura echoed it hard. Because she was pretty sure it was her last saving grace in everything.

She watched Danny lick her lips. Her eyes didn’t hold back a single shred of judgment.

“ _But_ —you blew the whole thing out of proportion. You started freaking out about the nature of your relationship like it hadn’t been that way all along. And then every word out of your mouth was like some made-up obstacle for you guys, and you became the devil’s advocate of your own relationship. So of course it ended awfully. And _then_ —the third—”

“Was both of us.”

“Was _you_. Because you rushed your reconciliation and then…fell back into each and every bad habit. Because you didn’t learn a fucking thing from _any_ of it. Which is why we’re here after seven years. And you _still_ actually need someone to explain this to you. And I can’t _believe_ it has to be me. I mean I can and I can’t.”

The air hung heavy and awkward with silence between them. Laura’s mind was reeling and her heart had never sunk so low.

She tried to pile things on top but feelings kept slipping out.

_The time. The train. My suitcases._

_Why did she ever come back to me?_

_Why would she ever come back_ again _after all this?_

She took one shuddering breath in at the extent of the ache in her chest before pushing her pain down in one solemn swallow.

_I have to—find my cat and—get her in the car._

She finally looked up into Danny’s pale, sad doe eyes, “We have to find Marble and get her in the car. Because—the time. And—the train.”

Danny stared at her incredulously for a second, before nodding.

\\\

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of an angsty chapter. This is the turning point tho, after this it more or less turns into a rom com tbh. Hope you guys are still digging it!


	14. I Think I'm Stupid

She’s ached for people, sure—but she _burns_ for Laura.

Carmilla had known from the first time she saw her that the girl was her match. Something turned on in her that didn’t even exist before. A flame you couldn’t blow out.

“The worst thing is I can’t control the fact that it’s _her_. No matter how stupid she is, or how many times she’s hurt me, or how _deeply_ , or how important the things she takes away are—it’s—she’s the one I love. The only arms I want around me; the only hands I want to touch me. I—can’t even really stand to have another woman touch me.”

“ _Oh_.”

Her uber driver, Ramon, put a hand over his heart. His face sincerely empathetic—brows crumpled up and eyes wide with pain.

“I understand some of this Ms. Karnstein. What you’re feeling.”

His hand passed reverently over a photograph of his wife; laughing, with their two children slung on either side of her. He had it taped onto the dashboard, and it was what’d started the conversation—Carmilla telling him she was beautiful.

“I’ve been away from Rebecca for two years now. I’ve been alone in the city. And I know soon I will be able to send for them here but—it’s been so lonely. I miss her, and the kids—so much. I hate that I can’t control our circumstances.”

He hung his head a bit, and Carmilla felt for him. They stayed in mutual silence; a tacit understanding connecting them.

“I think it’s good,” he finally told her, “That you’re going after her. I don’t think you’re stupid.”

She snorted; expression self-deprecating, “ _I_ think I’m stupid.”

\\\

It was three twenty in the afternoon. She wore a floppy hat and sunglasses to keep the sun at least off her face. She let Ramon carry her bags out of the car for her, because he’d insisted so kindly. In exchange, though, she made him keep the full amount of the tip she’d shoved into his hands. He looked down at the bills, wide-eyed and shaking his head, “Ms. Karnstein—no way—I can’t.”

“Of course you can, don’t be dumb,” she told him, picking her bags up from where he’d lain them carefully for her, “You deserve so much more.”

She looked back and smiled at him in goodbye, walking into the station.

\\\

_The things I’m willing to do for her are laughable._

The station buzzed; alive with moving bodies. She felt like the only one standing still, looking around; lost.

There was very little information she could gather from JP, when she spoke to him (really just the time of Laura’s departure). She hadn’t spoken to her since their fight days ago. She’d honestly been dreading this and—in her own masochistic way—looking forward to it.

Because it _was_ like an arrow through the chest every time she saw her. From the first uppity swivel of her chair in dorm room 307; face twisted up in immediate disdain for her (and Carmilla should’ve probably guessed, then, too—the way the story would go) to now—spotting her sat on the mostly-empty waiting benches between two large suitcases that looked almost as tall as she was. She kept glancing down at the two tickets crumpled a bit too tightly in her fist.

Carmilla panicked momentarily. Afraid that Laura had chosen someone else to go with. She looked around—for Ann, or _Lurch_ , or even Noelle. But there was no one. Just Laura—alone in the amber light of the station; eyes and hair flashing the same gold shade beneath it. Sucking on her bottom lip in troubled sadness.

And she just wanted to soothe her.

She couldn’t help it. It was instinct.

She almost didn’t realize she was walking until she was hovering just over Laura—the girl turning her head up slowly at the sight of her shadow.

Laura’s eyes were still bright and beautiful (still glowing in the dark light of the station). They grew wide too, at the sight of her. Her mouth gaped before she gasped her name softly, in a question, “ _Carm_?”

Carmilla nodded, because her voice would come out strained if she used it then.

She watched Laura’s throat bob a few times beneath the skin; the tendons flexing.

“I…can’t believe you’re here.”

“Because you’re stupid.”

Carmilla tried to stay succinct. She didn’t meet Laura’s eyes. She peaked her brow and concentrated on the tickets in the girl’s hand, “You brought mine?”

“Uhh,” Laura looked around as if to check, then fixed on them clutched in her fist (releasing her grip a bit), “Yeah—I—I did.”

Carmilla put her suitcases down and sat beside Laura, leaving an empty seat between them.

The girl’s gaze was still fixed on her. Carmilla could feel it burning on her face. She kept her own stare secured to the tracks; wondering how she was going to make it through a week of this.

Finally, in a voice that had gone a little raw, Laura spoke to her, “I thought you said you couldn’t do this anymore.”

Carmilla shrugged in her understated way, eyes flitting to the dull grey concrete, “I’ve said that a _few_ times. I’m still here.”

Laura got up, moving to the empty seat between them and leaning into her space, “Carm—please listen—”

Carmilla started shaking her head, immediately bristling at the tone of Laura’s voice. The softness and sincerity. It was a tone she’d heard several times already. Each time—she’d fallen for it. This time she didn’t even want to hear it.

“ _Don’t_ —say you’re sorry or something. Because I’m…not here for that.”

She turned to Laura for the first time since she’d sat down. And she tried very hard to not note the specific shade of her eyes. She swallowed, and swiped her tongue over her lips before she started to speak, “You know those Cyleron people?”

She watched Laura’s expression shift, to confusion, and then frowning seriousness, “Yeah—of course.”

“They know you guys breached their network,” Carmilla’s hand clenched in response to the way a light breeze played with Laura’s hair; blowing it onto her face and making her nose crinkle in annoyance. She watched Laura handle it herself—brushing it back with her palm.

“And how do _you_ know that?”

Carmilla squinted, “Why do you always think I’m involved when this stuff happens?”

“Because you’re _literally_ always standing right next to it,” Laura huffed (and Carmilla was glad, for the reminder, of how _frustrating_ the girl could be—along with the great eyes and great hair), “And you _were_ once an accomplice of evil. So spill. What’s going on?”

Carmilla rolled her eyes, willfully ignoring a lot of that sentence, “Those Cyleron guys hold meetings sometimes in Mattie’s hotel.”

Laura gaped, “I thought you said that place was cool!”

“I said as far as I _knew_.”

“And what do you know now?”

Carmilla’s eyes flickered to Laura’s pouting lips. Whenever they argued like this they gravitated closer, at first imperceptibly until suddenly it was—palpable. And she inhaled, without having to, peppermint and chocolate—Laura’s very breath.

“I know that they’ve hired assassins. To meet you when you go to your father’s. To stop you from publishing your article.”

She watched Laura lick her lips.

“They could _try_.”

 _“Laura_ —” Carmilla began, knowing even as she started to form it that it would be a futile sentiment, “Why don’t you just print whatever you have now? All the damning evidence you found? Let it speak for itself.”

“Do you have any idea how powerful a story can be?” There was an urgency to the words that Carmilla was used to by then; that she still admired in a wistful way, “How it can _move_ people. Because—as far as what the authorities do—let’s _face_ it, they can be bought. That might take forever; coiled around a bunch of legal technicalities. They might take what I found and _hide_ it. That’s not even new. Not even slightly beyond what they’re capable of. But if I publish this story they’re _done_. That’s public opinion. That’s the _world_ seeing it. That’s something they can’t just delete anymore, or conceal. _People_ will know. And that’s the only way justice ever truly happens. As the daughter of a retired good cop, I can _assure_ you.”

Carmilla’s brows rose. She’d already come prepared to resign herself because—this _was_ Laura Hollis. It was a given.

“So we’re going.”

“Yeah,” Laura nodded emphatically, “They’ll know something’s up if I don’t. And if they’re surrounding my dad’s place waiting for me then there’s no way I’m leaving him alone with that. I think we could handle it. There’s been tougher challenges.”

“Okay then,” she stood to pick her bags up, “I’m going to go check my luggage.”

“Oh, um—yeah,” Laura got up, a bit clumsily, pulling at her bags with a lot of trouble; watching Carmilla lift hers with ease, “So vamp-strength sure looks fun.”

“You had your chance.”

It was the sort of joke she wouldn’t usually make. The type she only made when she was angry with the girl. And Laura knew that pretty well (Carmilla could tell from how her head slumped in front of her; hearing the words).

They walked along in silence. Laura glanced her over about a million times before speaking up, “Carm—”

“I don’t want to talk about us,” Carmilla interrupted quickly, “I already know what you’re going to say and—just— _forget_ it. I’m only here to make sure no bullets reach your dad while they’re flying at you. After that—it all goes back to how it was.”

Laura’s eyes grew wide, before she smiled, pensively, “And me?”

Carmilla eyed her, from her periphery; trying for a convincing display of apathy, “You can dodge your own. Just hope you’re better at that than carrying suitcases.”

Laura shrugged as best as she could while she balanced the weight of her things, “Okay—fine. But if you save my life even once then…you owe me an actual conversation. A real talk about us.”

“If I save your life for the umpteenth time,” Carmilla groused, her voice low and disparaging, “I don’t actually owe you shit.”

They walked in silence again, toward the line to bag-check. Carmilla wasn’t sure which way to feel; watching Laura hang her shoulders beside her; eyes glittering, and flickering left.

\\\

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like sassy-Carmilla :/ sorry!


	15. Type O Negative

\\\

There was a tightness to the set of Carmilla’s lips that Laura wanted to kiss away. It’s as if she were holding back a great mass of words—all frantic to fly out and peck at everything. Them _and_ the scenery.

Or maybe—and it was at least a little likely—Laura was projecting. It wasn’t like she had much else to do. Just sit back, uncomfortable, as the train chugged along. Steady, nothing like the way her heart was beating.

Carmilla had insisted on getting the window seat; Laura guessed it was so that she didn’t have to look at her, or anybody. She sat, fascinated by the wide expanse the reinforced glass revealed (though looking swiftly over, Laura thought it was still pretty uninteresting at this point—grey concrete mosaic with the occasional graffiti). They were still in the city.

Laura was glad for Carmilla—that she could sit quietly, observe the world and think esoteric things to herself while occasionally changing the song on her phone. However, she, herself, wasn’t so lucky. She was obscenely bored. Her eyes were tired of dragging across all the same images again. There was barely anyone else taking the train—a few nondescript travelers plus a handful of odd ducks she’d already memorized and gifted with nicknames they’d never get to know about (Creeper-Smile, Newspaper, Turtleneck, Mr. Handlebar Moustache, and Big Black Sunglasses). They were _all_ pretty suspicious if she was being honest but Laura figured this was too public a spot for an assassin to leap out at her so her imagination didn’t even want to bother with it. At most they were just watching her, and she was, at this point, used to being watched.

_Go ahead and keep tabs. It’s not even worth noting anymore._

Mostly she glanced at Carmilla’s soft profile. Laura knew that Carmilla could feel her (likely glaring) stare but she still kept both earbuds in, eyes fixed solely on the scenery. _Pretty clear signal_.

Laura fidgeted.

She’d left her i-pod in her parka’s pocket; at home. And she hadn’t thought to bring a book either. She glanced a few times at Carmilla’s black messenger bag, knowing there were at least two in there but they’d be dusty volumes full of abstract thoughts and Laura really didn’t want to deal with that either. Their existence and blah blah blah.

She let a sigh puff out her cheeks.

Carmilla glanced at her briefly; appearing annoyed by all the movement.

 _That’s_ , Laura decided, _better than nothing._

She yawned without even covering her mouth and stretched out her limbs even though her small body had plenty of room. She let her right arm drape over Carmilla’s shoulders instead of reeling it back into her own space (where Carmilla obviously wanted it, if the slight curl of her lips was any indication).

“I’m _super_ bored,” Laura mouthed back at the sharp, dark glare and the perfectly arched brow. She watched Carmilla roll her eyes and fully loved her victory.

A pale, delicate hand pulled a single bud out of her ear, and Carmilla regarded her finally with her full attention (or as much as Laura was getting for now), “Did you bring a book—do you want one?”

Laura shook her head, “I don’t really want to re-read Camus right now.”

“Too bad,” Carmilla said slowly, disingenuously, “So just sit still the four hours then.”

“I _can’t_.”

Carmilla shrugged; eyes dark and deadpan as they met Laura’s.

“Too bad.”

Laura dropped her arm and tugged at Carmilla’s loose earbud, smirking, “How about you share?”

“How about you learn to keep songs on your phone because it’s 2022 and literally nobody needs mp3 players anymore?”

“I _know_ how,” Laura pouted, wryly, “I just think it’s more organized the other way. Plus, phones are _gigantic._ ”

Carmilla gazed around, shaking her head as if her resolve stood a chance (when she and Laura both knew that it didn’t).

She said, finally, “I’m listening to Type O Negative.”

It was muttered; hardly audible if Laura weren’t sitting close enough for their forearms to brush on occasion.

She glared at the earbud in her hand, “That’s awful.”

“They’re brilliant,” Carmilla said, so haughtily that Laura had to smile.

“It’s like listening to a demon-possessed frog croaking over the sounds of tortured doom metal; reciting gothic poetry about some possibly-semi-dead chick—maybe you?—I don’t know, but it’s both the saddest and scariest music I’ve ever heard and—couldn’t we listen to something we _both_ like? Please?”

“I don’t _have_ any Fall Out Boy,” Carmilla told her, with a small, albeit facetious grin, "They're awful."

Laura pouted harder.

Carmilla’s stoic eyes finally cut contact with hers; dropping. She offered Laura her phone, laying in her open palm, “Choose wisely.”

Laura picked it up; her fingertips momentarily brushing against Carmilla’s, “Okay.”

She slid through her options (a good chunk of it she didn’t recognize at all, as she’d expected; or only recognized from many other times like this—searching through Carmilla’s music for something she’d enjoy).

“Um—what about Le Tigre?”

“Not in the mood.”

Laura played with her lip between her teeth, scrolling down; sometimes back up, “What about…hmm…what about…what about The Cure? Come on, you really like them. And I can tell you want to listen to something sort of sad.”

Carmilla hiked a brow but gave only a small nod in actual reply.

Laura smirked (because she’d chosen wisely, and they both knew it). She slid the earbud in her ear and tapped her thumb over Just Like Heaven.

She kept raking her eyes over Carmilla’s profile now that the girl had turned away; gaze fixed over the city they were speeding out of. Her heart ceased for a second. She really wished she could slip her hand into Carmilla’s, the way she could before.

\\\

After The Cure there was Joy Division, and then Sonic Youth until Carmilla’s battery started flashing under 5% and they gave up on the whole thing.

Now Carmilla sat, reading Camus. And Laura sat, reading Camus, too, except not really.

Outside, the scenery started looking like home. Dusk was falling beautifully—amber and violet over lush trees. Memories started forming—of the scent of the air; of the grass growing up to her knees so she could barely even run through it; of the tree trunks scratching her palms every time she tried to climb up one.

“I can’t wait ‘til we get there,” she told Carmilla; eyes following the stretch of a few roads she recognized, “My dad is gonna be so _freaking_ happy to see you.”

Carmilla sighed beside her and immediately Laura noticed its tone—half-melancholic, half-hesitant.

“What?”

“Have you told him?”

Laura swallowed, “Told him what?”

Carmilla shook her head at her, almost resentfully, “That we aren’t together.”

Laura shrugged, not quite looking chastised, “There was never a good time for that.”

The changing light outside placed pretty shadows along Carmilla’s face. Laura wished they were having a different conversation. Maybe one about the way she looked golden right then.

Instead, Carmilla was murmuring to her shortly, and sarcastically, “Why didn’t you tell him when you were with _Ann_? That you found someone new. That you’d moved on.”

“Because I _hadn’t_! I—haven’t. And I’m not…going to.”

Laura tried to catch her breath. The air was always electric between them when they fought. Because of her temper. And Carmilla’s temper. And their temper _together_. The air was never just… _still_. Almost like it was only in Carmilla’s presence that Laura noted they weren’t a static object but one constantly spinning. Her head was constantly spinning.

“Why do you always have to bring her up? It’s tiring.”

Her ears were hot and she was glad her hair was down.

Carmilla turned to her in a flash; eyes burning with something that equally thrilled and repulsed her, “Why did _you_ have to date her for a year? Oh now you don’t like it when she’s brought up? Poor you. It makes you _tired_. Well _fuck_ you, I was tired for a year.”

“Okay,” Laura’s eyes gaped, “You win—you’ve been tired for longer. Big deal—that was _always_ gonna be true, you’ve been alive way longer so you’ve been _every_ feeling longer than me. But you win, okay? So could we just—”

Carmilla scoffed, interrupting her, “When are you going to learn that _you win_ isn’t a fucking apology?”

She turned back to her book but Laura could tell by the way her jaw flexed beneath her moon-pale skin that she likely wasn’t reading it.

“And stop _staring_ at me,” she growled, “It’s bad enough that when we get there I’m going to have to act all _doting_ and _adoring_ , just so that you don’t ever have to have a truthful conversation with your father. I don’t understand why you have to _cushion_ everything for him—”

Laura looked up, mouth a bit scrunched up, but not entirely taken aback, “Hey—he cushioned me first. If I cushion, it’s ‘cause he cushioned me. And after—everything—maybe that’s the best thing you know?”

Carmilla stared at her for seconds, her dark eyes warm, before finally, softly saying, “Maybe.”

Their eyes stayed fixed on each other’s as the train smoothly stopped. Inconsequential announcements were made and people started to shuffle off; dragging their feet.

Laura got up first, extending her hand to Carmilla and watching, with her heart in her throat, as the girl regarded it before finally laying her palm atop Laura’s. Their fingers entwined easily, and Laura tugged her up, smiling.

“Ready to do this?”

Carmilla rolled her eyes, “Hardly.”

\\\

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May the fourth be with you guys! Hope you liked, see you next week!


	16. Home

\\\

The night was very young—a pale blue. It was as if Carmilla were looking at the world through water. She watched Laura—gold and blue under the light of the lampposts. She sighed, and wondered why she even looked at her.

They had picked up their luggage and were waiting outside the station, for Paul Hollis’ red Chevy truck to come easing up in the horizon.

She could practically _hear_ Laura think—as the girl moved agitatedly from foot to foot.

“Cupcake. _What?_ ”

“No, nothing.”

“Do you need the bathroom?”

“No.”

"Then what's wrong?"

" _Nothing."_

Her voice didn’t have much of the vibrancy Carmilla was used to. It was soft, and monotone. One glance at her dipping profile broke some of the hardness Carmilla felt (the entire train ride she’d had to keep reinforcing those walls, actually).

_Why is your face so lovely? Why is it so hard to ever truly be mad at you?_

“You don’t have to lie.”

A ponderous look scrunched up Laura’s features at her response and she bit her lip, before finally speaking, “It’s just…how did those guys know where my dad lives, or, or that I was headed here?”

Above them blue had begun to become black and the stars were slowly growing visible.

Carmilla shrugged, because she thought it was obvious, “You’re about as easy to find as anyone is, cutie. Actually, you’re probably easier. I bet your location is on _right now_.”

“Oh _fuck_.”

She watched Laura fumble through her pea coat’s pockets, “I hate smartphones—I never should’ve—”

Her expression brightened upon finding it but she then almost instantly frowned at her screen once it was flipped over in her palm; softly mumbling, “How do you even—”

Carmilla stretched out her hand, willfully keeping a dry expression (but she spoke gently), “Here—let me.”

Laura’s grateful smile was almost humble. Charming, in the awkward way that Laura was. Carmilla could never fathom why that in particular seemed to work so well on her. Why she was helpless to it. 

Again their fingers brushed during the exchange. Carmilla tried to ignore the spark that ran suddenly through her. Just as she tried to ignore Laura’s notifications—the nine unread messages not from her.

“I like how at 342 I know how to do this. Yet here you stand, 26 years old and you can’t even find the settings on your phone, Laura. And _wow_ —the last thing you typed into your GPS was literally donuts.”

Laura nodded.

“I had to find the nearest donuts.”

With a sigh, Carmilla gave her back her phone. Laura took it, placing it back into her pocket and keeping her hand there.

She hesitated. A soft look crossed her light-brown eyes again.

Carmilla prepared herself to interrupt (trying, with much difficulty, to calm the emotions that swelled through her body at the spark in her eyes) and then—the amber headlights of Paul’s truck appeared just over the edge of the road. He beeped playfully at them as he got close, and parked directly in front of them; swinging the door open and jumping happily out of his large, still running, truck. He walked swiftly towards them with a wide smile; outstretching his arms.

“Girls!”

He had the same sandy brown hair as Laura, and their faces many times made the same expressions, but Laura’s pretty features she got almost exclusively from her mother. In fact, in old photographs Carmilla had often mistaken her for Laura.

Carmilla relaxed into his tight hug; her head bumping softly against Laura’s as she was pulled into it too.

“Dad—I gotta breathe,” Laura gasped.

“You know,” he drawled, in his sweet accent, “Carmilla never needs to breathe—she lets me hug her as tight as I want. Well—probably ‘cause she’s a sap, she does that.”

He pouted, but let them go—standing back to watch them fondly, “I’m so glad you guys are here—I can’t even—believe it.”

He broke off unexpectedly. And his eyes shined like how Laura’s shined when she got emotional too.

“I think I’ll—put our luggage in the back.”

Carmilla took a step back, bending to stack she and Laura’s suitcases and lifting them in one go, walking toward the bed of the truck.

She heard Paul giggling, telling Laura, “It’s crazy how strong she is, huh? Where did you _find_ this girl?”

It was a lie she kept up—ever since the time he’d walked in on her lifting the couch to find her lost copy of _The Stranger_.

He’d gaped. She’d shrugged (balancing the couch, vertical, with one raised arm), and she’d told him, “I’m um—freakishly…strong? I’m a world-renowned powerlifter.”

She was an awful liar. But he was a pretty gullible guy. He’d started grinning, “Wow—that’s _amazing_.”

Carmilla supposed it wasn’t exactly, fully, a lie—just not the whole truth. She _was_ a freak—but namely—a vampire.

An actual monster.

\\\

Laura leaned against her, sat in the middle seat between Carmilla and her father. They kept the windows down to feel the night breeze and breathe in its sweet air but Carmilla didn’t exactly note any of that. Laura’s hair whipped softly against her face, tickled her, and left hints of her shampoo so strong it was all Carmilla could smell. At times she found herself arching her face into it.

She supposed they talked. And she supposed the scenery was beautiful. It always was—leading from the station to Laura’s childhood home. Trees as old as she was stood tall above them, leaves rustling in the wind as if to wave.

Even _they_ were friendly here.

They finally reached the serene suburb where the house was—ruddy orange bricks and a red double-door. Carmilla had it memorized because it was such an important part of Laura’s history.

“ _Man_ , is it nice to see this place,” Laura sighed, smiling happily. The sound filled her up with a disgusting amount of joy.

\\\

“Steak extra-rare, right Carm?”

She nodded at him. It sizzled slowly, and deliciously, and scented the air in a way that made Carmilla’s mouth water.

“ _Gross_.”

She looked over at Laura and smirked; spiking a brow. They were sat around the kitchen table, watching as Paul cooked.

“Oh _hush_ , you,” Paul scolded her, “Don’t worry—I’m getting to your salmon.”

“And biscuits and mashed potatoes,” Laura counted off, one hand over her stomach; leaning back into her chair, “And then _dessert_ obviously. Ice cream—there’s ice cream, right dad?”

Paul squinted at her, “ _How_ do you stay that weight?”

“Determination,” Laura answered, but couldn’t keep a straight face and they each dissolved into twin laughter, “No, I don’t know—mom’s genes?”

“Probably,” he murmured, “Definitely not mine.”

He frowned, concentrating on several things at once. Carmilla could very clearly see their resemblance when his face made that look. She glanced between them, a sense of belonging gripping her suddenly. It wasn't entirely uncomfortable--she simply wasn't at all used to it.

Laura’s small nose twitched as she scented the air, “God, I can’t wait. I missed your food, dad.”

She sat up, though clearly still very relaxed in her posture; folding her forearms on the table and laying her head on them.

She eyed Carmilla delicately from that spot, and Carmilla grew eventually annoyed under the scrutiny. She turned to her, and murmured, “What is it?”

Laura shrugged, “You look nice in that flowy…sheer top.”

“ _Thanks,_ baby,” she said, in a tone that didn’t match her eyes (which belied all the spots in her that were still bruised, vulnerable; not just from the fight they’d had but from all the things that had been piling up before then). She just couldn’t help wondering why it was that Laura wanted her most when she wasn’t in reach. Why did she panic at her absence? And what about her wasn’t enough to keep the girl once they were really together? It was as if she lived between two states of panic, and Carmilla no longer knew quite where to fit within all of that. Still, she didn’t enjoy watching Laura’s face fall.

“ _Aww_ ,” Paul finally turned to them, a grin splitting his face, “Lookit you two lovebirds. Sure is nice to have love back in the house, you know?”

Laura buried her face all the way into her forearms, “Oh, _yeah_.”

“Uh oh,” Paul snorted at his daughter's tone, “I better finish fast.”

\\\

Laura’s childhood bedroom was pretty dainty. The walls were a pastel yellow, and so were her bedsheets. There were stuffed animals, and an actual kitten calendar from 2013. Carmilla lied on top of her adorable floral-themed quilt and (pretending to read) watched the girl at her desk, typing vigorously on her laptop as her eyes flicked back and forth; editing herself as she went. Idly, she sometimes sipped from a mug of hot chocolate that Carmilla had brought up for her just a few moments ago.

She loved watching Laura working—the sweat and delirium.

Laura wasn’t driven by ambition. Carmilla didn’t know if she’d even like her if that were the case. It was more an endless ethical drive. A need to find justice in an arbitrary (or sometimes just willfully cruel) world. Carmilla sometimes thought her efforts were doomed but she certainly admired them.

“Remember before,” Laura spoke; not looking up from the screen, “When you kept chastising me about staring?”

“Yeah,” Carmilla smirked.

“Seems a bit hypocritical now.”

“Maybe.”

Laura snorted. Probably at her complete lack of shame.

“I don’t exactly appreciate double standards, Carm.”

“Tough, cookie.”

“Cookie!?” Laura swiveled her chair to face her; bones popping as she stretched her stiff arms over her head, “Who’s _that_?”

Carmilla shook her head, a coy smile on her face, “I think I’m just craving something very sweet.”

“Hmm, you want—cookies?”

“I want blood,” Carmilla deadpanned, watching Laura’s eyes as they gaped.

“Yeah we don’t uh—exactly have that handy in the pantry, or anything, but um—if you want—” she spoke particularly tenderly, breaking off.

Carmilla watched her stand; walking slowly over, something in her gait seeming anxious. But steady.

“We just—have to do it where my dad won’t see.”

Carmilla got up—feeling suddenly almost threatened by the look in Laura’s eyes, she started shaking her head, “I meant I’m going hunting.”

Laura stopped in her tracks, a few feet short of reaching Carmilla.

“ _What_?” she looked practically incredulous, “No, no way—I’m not letting you eat the _townspeople_ in the place I grew up.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Carmilla curtly told her; annoyed that Laura would think it in the first place.

“Then what…?” Laura trailed off, frowning, “I mean, this isn’t the city. It’s not like—there’s a blood-bag speakeasy in every alley corner here.”

Carmilla’s eyes remained cool; her expression inscrutable, “I know. I’m hunting assassins, stupid—whole reason I’m here, remember?”

“Oh.”

Carmilla minded again, the way Laura’s face fell, but headed for her window, sliding it open; turning back just once to say, “I’ll be back before dawn, cutie. Try not to get _too_ sweaty and delirious.”

\\\


End file.
